


Mazes I Formed in Reality's Absence

by uglycourage



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-01-26 09:56:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 210,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21372262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uglycourage/pseuds/uglycourage
Summary: One of Joker's hostages recognizes a favorite painter of hers who now works for the Clown Prince of Crime. Starstruck, she can't help but voice her admiration, forever changing her life in the process.
Relationships: Joker/OC, Joker/Original Female Character
Comments: 182
Kudos: 343





	1. Chapter 1

They were a group of nine, each collected due to the nature of their professions. Two kindergarten teachers, a nonprofit organizer, a veterinarian, the equally giving son of a philanthropist, an award-winning librarian only two days away from retirement, a sign language instructor, a counselor at a veteran PTSD service, and herself, Celine, the designer of an app allowing suicidal persons to interact anonymously with licensed mental health practitioners.

All professions shared the commonality of selflessly serving the public, thus making their kidnapping at the hands of the Joker that much more appalling when word of their taking reached the news circuit.

Snatched at various locations, they were individually deposited into the basement of a crumbling church on the outskirts of Gotham City. Worn, yellow tape around the building cautioned any bystander from entering, though the city never actually got around to demolishing it; leaving it to sit all but forgotten near a patch of woods not unused to being the dumping ground for eye witnesses to nefarious dealings.

The basement was spacious, but dusty beyond belief, and by a few sniffs that made her nose hairs tingle, Celine suspected asbestos to be present. Each of their wrists were latched together securely by rope, and only when they were tossed into the basement were the black sacks removed from their heads.

The librarian couldn’t hold back her soft sobbing, nor could the the kindergarten teachers nor the nonprofit organizer. Everyone else sat in a befuddled sort of state, soaking in the surrealness of their situation. Celine meditated with eyes closed; just able to regain a semblance of inner calm when the door leading up the stairs, swung open.

Someone scooted into her, but she didn’t mind it, understanding how terrifying and disorienting of a plight they were in. A handful of awful scenarios sped through her head, but she didn’t allow herself to linger on any of them. It would only heighten her anxiety and cloud her mind. If they had any hope of making it out alive, she needed to keep her cool.

Half a dozen of armed men stomped down the stairs, each looking every bit as terrifying as the last beneath the dim, amber lighting. They were followed by what sounded like someone skipping down the stairs while humming out of tune a cartoon series Celine had watched as a child but couldn’t for the life of her remember the name of.

“Whyyy _hellooo_ boys and girls, sorry to have kept you all waiting.”

Every hostage knew exactly who the voice belonged to, and only when he managed to illuminate himself at the bottom of the steps did the panic set in. Strangled sobbing was resumed, and the young man at Celine’s side buried himself closer into her, barely able to meet Joker’s scour of the occupants.

“I uh, I bet you’re all wondering why I’ve gathered you here.”

No one dared speak. Celine studied the Joker, and then his henchmen. They were stiff with tension, eying their boss carefully. She guessed even they were afraid of him. She wondered if there wasn’t a person alive who didn’t hold some form of unease towards him.

“Simple really…Commissioner Gordon of the _noble_ GPD has uh…someone I want in custody. And after leaving him a _riveting_, _heart_**felt** letter, he just couldn’_t _be swayed. Which is where you all come in.”

Someone stifled a gasp, causing the Joker’s lips to peel back into a menacing grin.

“Beginning tonight,” he strolled forward, catching the gaze of the veterinarian who eyed him warily, “for every day that passes and my uh…_compadre_ isn’t returned to me, I will publicly execute one of you fine folk. Nothing _personal_.”

He took the time to examine each of them. Celine kept hers eye-level with his chest. She’d been told before that when she really focused on something, her silver-cobalt gaze could get a little bit intense. She certainly didn’t want to attract attention or potentially set him off. Though not a meek person by nature, she was self-aware enough to know when to turn off her brain so as to not draw attention.

He thankfully skimmed over her, continuing his speech.

“You are all the unsung heroes of Gotham City, _instrumental_ in aiding the young and traumatized.” He gave them a round of applause that echoed throughout the room. She couldn’t tell if it was sarcastic or not. “And I _uh_ can only hope Commissioner Gordon sees this too. Otherwise…”

In the blink of an eye he whipped out a pistol, aimed it at the veterinarian’s head, and pulled the trigger.

It clicked, but no bullet emerged.

This was enough to finally compromise the veterinarian. Tears trickled out of the corners of her eyelids. She shook, shrinking further into herself.

“Gotcha!” he giggled, pocketing the pistol. “I’ve ah-sent out a video to the dear commissioner, _imploring_ him to see reason. Come tomorrow night and uh…well…I s’ppose we’ll see what happens!”

The inflections with which he spoke intrigued Celine just as much as they unnerved her. She figured that might have been the point. From what she read in articles of his misdeeds, he relished in being unpredictable. Was it too out of the realm of possibility that even if Commissioner Gordon agreed to release whoever it is he needed, Joker would still execute them regardless? How much of a man of his word was he?

_Well_, she thought, _like he said we’ll just have to find out_.

Two of his thugs stayed behind while the rest stormed up the stairs and locked the door.

No one in the basement spoke. No one dared look at one another. Looking meant taking each other in. Familiarization. And if tomorrow proved not to go in the Joker’s favor, someone among the group would meet a grisly end.

For as compassionate as every nine of the persons were, they had a habit of attaching themselves deeply to others. It was best, they each figured, to maintain distance. In the end, it would only hurt worse if they knew each other better.

So, they lost themselves to their own musings and worries in the heavy, uncomfortable silence of what was formerly St. Genevieve’s Parish.

***

“Can’t thank ya enough boss. Ya really saved my hide,” Morris said, roughly patting Joker’s shoulder. “Shoulda given me a couple more hours, nearly had the ingredients to blow that place to kingdom come.”

Joker accepted the pat only because of who the individual was.

Commissioner Gordon was, after a little nudging, able to be reasoned with. Within eighteen hours, Morris Grant – his most skilled and dexterous bomb maker – was returned to him, untouched and in high spirits.

“Next time you’re stupid enough to get caught,” Joker warned, slipping a sharp blade to the throbbing tendons in his neck. “I won’t be so _forgiving_. Got it?”

Morris remembered his place immediately. Was it bad that a part of him momentarily longed for the jail cell he’d been sheltered in? Though he respected his boss’s tenacity and imagination, he feared him just as much.

_So long’s I got something to offer him that no one else can, I’m safe, _he thought.

“Got it,” Morris breathed out, relieved when the blade finally disappeared. “I ah I hear from Ricky you kidnapped a group of people in my honor. That’s awful kind of you.”

Joker shrugged, smirking slightly.

“No need to thank me, it was _my pleasure_.”

Speaking of, Joker had almost forgotten about the group of nine in the basement. It was getting late into the evening and they were no doubt on the edge of their seats, wondering if Commissioner Gordon had signed their executions or not.

It made the Joker…_giddy_ with anticipation. He wouldn’t kill them as he had promised…he needed to keep his word every now and again so as to guarantee exchanges like this. If he killed his hostages regardless of getting his demands, no one would ever play ball with him again.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t indulge in his own bit of fun before turning the do-gooders over.

With a pep in his step, Joker ambled to the basement door.

Celine recognized immediately when Joker’s footsteps bounced down the steps. She tensed briefly, then worked on her breathing.

_I have no control over this, _she reaffirmed. _I have no control and that’s okay. Life is fleeting and I have done the best I could in the time I’ve had. Death is only the next stage. The physical body dies, but the soul transcends. _

Not everyone was as accepting as she was.

Immediately, everyone tried worming as far as possible from the maniacal clown; some shuddering, others tearing up, someone mumbling a prayer under their breath.

It gutted Celine. What right did the Joker have plucking them out of their lives just to meet his own agenda? Why were genuinely good people being punished for trying to make Gotham a better place? She hadn’t indulged in it often, but impulse egged her to set the man straight. Make him think a little, or better yet, hit him hard enough to knock some sense into him.

“I uh…_hate_ to be the bearer of bad news…”

“No,” the man still tucked into her, whimpered into her neck.

Though no one else had spoken throughout the day, Celine eventually crumbled and exchanged whispers with the philanthropist’s son – Wesley – squeezed into her side. He was just shy of twenty-two years of age and they had passed the time telling each other their bucket list goals. His included traveling to the rest of the six continents, meeting the Dalai Lama (one of her goals too), finding a way to redistribute the way Gotham City was fed as people going hungry each night pained him greatly, and opening up a local academy for orphaned children that not only taught them a myriad of subjects and skills, but aided them after graduation in securing stable jobs.

She instinctively felt protective of him, like an older sister would a younger brother.

Which is why the Joker’s next words were so jarring.

“Commissioner Gordon has uh elected _not_ to heed my offer. Such a _shame_. You folks really strike me as the best Gotham’s got to offer. I daresay…your deaths might even cause me to shed a tear.” He wiped at his eye, dramatics on full display, nearly causing Celine to roll her eyes. “But _alas_, a lamb must be sacrificed. And…who…might…it…_be_…” His voice cleared as he began to sing in a high-pitched tone, peering first at the kindergarten teachers. “My mother and _your_ mother were at the store, _your_ mother punched my mother in the **nose**. What color was the blood?” He circled around, finger pointing at each person. “P-U-R-P-L-E _was_ the color of the uh…_blood_.”

Celine froze as Joker’s finger landed on Wesley, who trembled even further into her hold.

“Welp, c’mon fella. No time like now t’a-.”

“No.”

She hadn’t even realized it left her mouth. And apparently neither did Joker as he did a double-take.

“If you’re going to execute someone,” Celine said with all the ease of discussing the weather, “make it me.”

Wesley’s arms instinctively tightened around her own.

“Please no,” he whispered.

“It’s okay,” she murmured back.

Joker stared between the two.

“Make it me,” she reiterated. “I’m older, I have no family, and I’ve lived a decade more than he has. It only makes sense.”

After a few seconds, he shrugged.

“If you _uh_ insist.”

Wesley’s grasp weighed her down, but Celine shook herself free of it. Or rather, the two henchmen still standing guard in the basement, yanked her free of it.

They pushed her, causing her to stumble forth. To everyone's surprise, Joker caught her by the upper arms, tugging her upward. They stared at each other for a moment, her bound hands hovering above his chest.

He devoured her with his gaze, but it was less sexual and more analytical. Like he was trying to pry into her mind and soul. She should have been startled by the intrusion, but instead, found herself mirroring the action; peering past the dark brown irises, wondering what churned beneath.

_Strong self-beliefs. Slight delusion. Entitlement. Self-perseverance at all cost. Semi-lunacy. Trauma. Apathy. Self-awareness. Nihilism. _

She tried taking a step back, somewhat overwhelmed by the weight of these observations. But Joker didn’t budge his grip an inch, seemingly in a trance as he continued inspecting her. She wondered what he was able to detect. She considered herself a straightforward person, so it couldn’t have been much to marvel at. Her nature was the complete antithesis of his.

In the blink of an eye, a knife was pinching into her throat. She flinched, but made no move to cower or cry, maintaining eye contact with him.

“Don’t ya uh know it’s _rude_ to stare?”

He cocked his head, bathing his scars with his tongue.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, dropping her stare.

The knife slipped beneath her chin and lifted, forcing her eyes back up.

“Is it the scars? You can tell me sweets, I won’t uh _execute_ ya for it. That’ll come later.”

He leaned his head back and cackled at his own joke.

She answered only when his laughter tapered off.

“The physical body is only a vessel,” she told him quietly. “It’s the presence within the vessel that holds my interest. I’m not looking at your scars, I’m looking at you.”

His jaw slacked at this. She got the feeling this wasn’t what he expected her to answer with.

Joker retracted the knife and flung her unceremoniously towards the steps. This time, no one was there to catch her. She had seconds to break her fall with bound hands; and she did, though her knee caps struck the edge of the stairs in a way that momentarily made her lose all the air in her lungs.

She felt his presence behind her, and then a sharp smack to her butt.

“Up and at ‘em, can’t keep the dear commissioner waiting.”

Celine pushed herself up, expecting him to rush the stairway in front of her. But he continued to loom behind her, the hand that had slapped her lingering at the base of her spine. Her legs, despite throbbing something fierce, slowly but surely ascended the steps.

The main floor of the church housed dust-coated pews and nailed to the stage was a life size replica of a crucified Jesus Christ, expression bloodied and set in agony. Some of the roof had collapsed in and when Celine gazed up, she noticed a few stars twinkling back at her. The stars, the full moon, and a few eye-watering lanterns were the only sources of light.

Despite her unnerving situation, she couldn’t keep her eyes from roaming around. She noticed a folded-out chair sitting in front of a camcorder on a tripod near the altar. She noticed Joker had many more henchmen in his service than the basement had led her to believe. She counted at least fifteen, and she’d have let her eyes continue to wander, but they refused to budge upon landing on a dark-haired man with a streak of silver running through his greasy pompadour. She knew that face. And its familiarity forced her feet to grind to a halt, causing the Joker to run into her.

A pair of hands settled on her waist to regain balance. They didn’t remove themselves.

“There uh, a reason ya stopped? Or did ya just want an excuse to feel me closer?”

His laughter ricocheted through the empty church. None of his henchmen joined in.

Celine continued staring. The recipient of her stare lowered his gaze, staring resolutely at the floor. He wasn’t but twenty feet from her, and she had to fight the urge to tip toe closer to him.

“You’re Aesop Gogola,” she blurted when the last of the Joker’s laugh seeped out.

His shoulders rose and stiffened.

“You owned the art gallery on Simmons Street. You showcased a lot of your original work too.”

No one spoke. Aesop continued glaring at the floor.

“Do you remember me at all?” She finally took a step toward him, Joker’s hands slipping from her waist. “I used to come in all the time. Your piece…_A Summer in Purgatory…_that was my favorite one. Do you still have it? I meant to ask if it was for sale, but you closed and never opened back up.”

She frowned when he continued ignoring her. Was he refusing to answer because of his boss or because he was embarrassed at being noticed?

“Well?” Joker’s voice tore through the silence. “Aren’t ya gonna answer the poor girl, Ace? She’s about to get her brains blown out. Least ya could do is indulge her.”

Aesop lifted his head and met her eyes. She suspected he wanted to do anything but engage with her. However, one glance at Joker and he was rolling back his shoulders, straightening a little bit.

“Yes, that was my gallery.”

He re-scanned her, tilting his head slightly. His eyes were a depth-defying hazel. She had a difficult time not losing herself in them.

“You-.” Aesop ventured a step closer to study her better. “I remember you.”

She was pleasantly surprised.

“You do?”

“Yeah. I was tempted to call the police on you a few times. You’d just stare at that piece for hours. I thought there was something wrong with you.”

Startled, Celine chortled, holding a palm to her quivering chest.

“I’m sorry,” she said, biting her lip. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s just that…that piece really got to me. A lot of times I felt like I entered a hypnotic state.”

Her acclaim was slowly but surely easing Aesop. Enough for him to take another step forward and lower his semi-automatic to his hip.

“I noticed you crying a few times,” he said. “What were you thinking about?”

Though he’d abandoned painting long ago, the artist in him couldn’t help but gravitate towards her. She was like a connection to the past. A connection to when things looked like they would work out for him. Similarly, who didn’t like to meet someone appreciative of their work?

“I uh,” she hesitated, fingers drumming against each other, “I thought about a lot of things. Paintings usually don’t do anything for me. I skim over them more often than not. My interest is a fickle thing. Difficult to gain, but once it’s yours, it’s yours forever.”

Aesop tried to fight his smile, but it was giving him a run for its money.

“_A Summer in Purgatory_ grabbed me immediately. The first time I saw it I thought about this casino in the Midwest my aunt and uncle took me to. It was one of the saddest places I’d ever been. No one but the elderly were there. They all sat glued to slot machines or smoking up a storm at the bar. You knew they were burning through their social security checks, hoping they could strike it big. I’d never seen so many people on auto-pilot before. It made me think that if I was the Devil, that’s exactly where I’d set up shop. My clientele would be endless. People wishing to relive their youth, wishing they had bodies that made them feel invincible, wishing they had more time, wishing the cancer wasn’t spreading. The first time I saw your piece, purgatory on Earth is exactly what I thought of.”

He was transfixed by the answer, as were a growing number of persons in the room. Some of the henchmen – while not the brightest in the bunch – couldn’t help but feel enamored with the certainty the woman spoke with. And be amazed that she could be so open when her death was on the horizon.

“The second time I looked at it,” she followed up, “I thought about my cousin Lauren. I thought about how much I had hurt her when I was young because I was hurting too and needed an outlet for that pain. Nothing physical, but I wasn’t very kind with my words, and I took advantage of her friendship, thinking she would always be there. That was one of the times you probably found me crying. She doesn’t talk to me anymore, and with good reason. But I miss her, and I wish I could turn back the clock and just be…different than I was.”

Aesop nodded along. Years later and her crying finally made sense. He was glad he hadn’t given in to his staff’s urging to call the police.

“The next few times I saw it I thought about all sorts of things. I thought about the Snow White play I was in and how I dunked the clothes of the actress who won Snow’s role, into the toilet, and pretended I didn’t know who had done it. I thought about how badly of a drinker I was in college, and how I invited a really sweet guy I was getting to know, to come to my place, but passed out before he got there. When I woke up the next morning, he had blocked my number. I thought about how insecure I used to be when I was around prettier women, and how that fed my loathing of self and others. I just didn’t know at the time, you know? That someone else’s beauty isn’t the absence of your own. I think that was the reoccurring theme of all my thoughts. Being young and naïve…who I was before I became better. The experiences that broke me so that I could rebuild and be who I am now. It’s a very…_cathartic_ painting. Like I bathed in holy water, you know?”

“Y-yes,” Aesop stuttered out, pleased at her commentary. “I felt much of the same after I finished painting it. Or maybe that was just the relief of getting it out.”

He hoped she didn’t ask about where the painting was now. He didn’t think he could answer without feeling shameful.

“The last time you were in,” he recalled, “you stared at it from open to close.”

She appeared worried.

“I’m not the reason you closed for good, am I?”

A chuckle burst from Aesop’s throat.

“Absolutely not. That had to do with…circumstances outside of my control. But you…you stood there for nearly four hours. What thoughts had you mesmerized that time?”

Her brows furrowed as she scratched at her chin.

“Oh yes!” She snapped her fingers. “It was an essay I had read from- do you know who Lester Heilig is?”

Aesop shook his head.

She went to continue but was interrupted by a voice behind her.

“He’s a German philosopher specializing in metaphysics.”

Celine turned, unsure how to feel at the Joker knowing this. It was also the first time he spoke without some sort of inflection in his tone. Like the man behind the makeup chose to voice this.

“Yeah,” she said, smiling halfheartedly. “He’d written a theory on why he thought miracles occurred. Did you read that one?”

He didn’t answer her. She got the feeling engaging with her wasn’t planned. A stormy expression was brewing on his features.

_Probably best I speed through this. I’m sure my yammering only makes him want to kill me more._

She returned her attention to Aesop.

“So, Heilig wanted to tackle the question of how miracles were possible. And, he believed God to be responsible. Not the Christian or Judaic or Muslim God…not a man, but rather an omniscient entity made up of limitless energy. His theory was that in order for God to make miracles possible, it had to work through the mathematics and physics of this realm. That is…God can’t just conjure up a miracle out of the blue, it has to work through people.”

Aesop appeared puzzled, so, she rethought her explanation.

“Okay, so let’s say you have a daughter that needs life-saving surgery. But no surgeon can do it because it’s too complex. You pray, even if you’re not religious, for a miracle. For your daughter to be saved. And just when you lose all hope, a surgeon practicing in exactly what your daughter’s surgery requires, pops up. Maybe their flight got delayed so they chose to stay in the city for a little bit. Maybe they got relocated from across the country to your hospital at just the right time. Who knows how they got there, all you know is they did, and they completed the surgery and your daughter’s life was saved. The timing of it all would lead you to assume it was a miraculous event, even though the surgeon’s appearance can be explained, right?”

“Right,” Aesop followed.

“That’s what I mean-what _Heilig_ meant about God having to work within the limitations of what is scientifically possible. Heilig believed God can live and work through any one of us…sparking an idea or decision or desire to create what is needed at the given time. Heilig also believed God wasn’t monogamous to one religion. Because this entity can live within any one of us, and we are all of various creeds and beliefs, miracles aren’t contained to persons of one faith.”

“But what makes some people lucky enough to experience miracles and not others?”

Everyone’s attention snapped to a lanky, balding henchman in his mid-thirties. He hadn’t quite caught on to what the lady was rambling about, but when he finally did, he couldn’t keep the question from exiting his mouth.

“Excellent question,” Celine praised. “And the exact one I was pondering on that day. Heilig had no answer as to why some were lucky enough to experience miracles and others weren’t. So, I tried to theorize it myself. There are two instances in my life where I can say things worked out for me in a seemingly miraculous way. I uh…I mentioned I used to be a really heavy drinker. There were two times where I got behind the wheel of a car and drove, so drunk I can’t even remember doing it. And in both instances, I crashed my car. I should have gone to jail, but for some reason, I didn’t pass out or wait around for the police to come. Something urged me to get out and run. That I got into no serious legal trouble...it ended up at the pound both times...still astounds me to this day. And for it to happen on two separate occasions?”

A few of the henchmen nodded, impressed she evaded such a fate. Throughout the duration of her account, they had lowered their weapons, focus solely on her. Joker noted this and would have demanded that focus back if his wasn’t just as tightly trained on her.

“I wondered what made me special enough to have these miracles occur,” Celine pondered. “And I have no proof of this…but…I think it’s because…even at my worst, love still thrived in me. Love for others, love for nature, love for animals. I used to be embarrassed to show that emotion, but it also hurt to deny I had it. This mentality stole years from my life because I was too focused on pretending I was as cold and emotionless as everyone else was.”

Her statement had a few of the men contemplating their own mentalities.

“This is just my belief, kind of a mix of personal experiences and reading the perspectives of astrophysicists, spiritual leaders, and mystics…but…I think love is the international language of the universe. It is the vibration, the frequency that passes through all. It is the language of God. And so long as we are open to it…willing to surrender when the time comes…so long as our souls don’t give in to the despair or the temptation to harm others without remorse…then…I think miracles are possible.”

She was met with dead silence.

“Anyway,” she met Aesop’s eyes, “I uh…I guess I just wanted to say thank you for painting that piece. It always made me think, never the same thoughts twice. To this day it’s still one of my favorite bits of art. And I meant to tell you, but by the time I got the courage, your gallery was gone. If you don’t mind me asking, what did you ever do with the piece?”

“I uh-.” He cleared his throat, unable to meet her stare. “Sold it.” _For morphine and cocaine. _

She smiled.

“Well, I hope whoever has it appreciates it just as much as I did.”

His nod was tentative.

Recognizing nothing more would be said about his time as a painter, Celine relocated her gaze to the chair in front of the camcorder. The angst she had felt in the basement was considerably lighter, perhaps because she finally got to tell one of her favorite artists just how much his work meant to her. She had to scoff at the timing. Moments before her death and now she was able to do what she’d been longing to?

_C’est la vie, _she thought wryly.

When she took her first step, the spell had been broken. Every gun in the vicinity was back to aiming at her. But she ignored them, continuing her patient pace to the chair. She heard footsteps behind her, alerting her Joker was close behind. She was shocked he had let her go on for so long without interruption or to make a smartass remark. Maybe it was his own form of mercy?

She lowered herself into the chair and crossed her legs. Her hands came together and settled in her lap. She waited.

Joker stared at the back of her head. It took him a moment to withdraw his pistol.

“Wait!”

Both Joker and Celine looked at Aesop.

“Um…” He hesitated under their scrutiny. “You can’t shoot someone else from the basement?”

Joker didn’t care for the love-struck look Aesop was watching the girl with.

“Toots volunteered,” he answered with a shrug, pressing the pistol to the back of her head. “Who am I to deny her?”

Aesop’s shoulders slumped. He did little to hide his anxiety. In fact, though they were better at submerging it, Celine’s words had stirred loose a few of the men’s humanity. They too would have preferred someone else be the first sacrificed.

Joker sensed this and that only made his grip tighten around the handle. Did this self-righteous shit really think a spiel about love saving the day would save her? He snorted. Not fucking likely.

He grew irritated when she failed to react to the pistol at her head. But it shouldn’t have surprised him. When he had taken her in in the basement, he saw a resolve that matched his own. Strength existed in quantities within this woman and even though he didn’t intend to kill her, he couldn’t deny he kind of wanted to. Kill or fuck the kindness out of her, he wasn’t entirely sure.

Everyone waited with bated breath for Joker to make a decision. Only Morris was aware he wasn’t planning to go through with the execution, but he was on his way back to headquarters to finish up the project he’d been working on prior to his capture.

“I’d uh ask if you had any final words, but ya had a fucking lot of them.”

She stayed quiet, which heightened his irritation.

He cocked back the hammer and paused, but she still didn’t react.

Leaning down so that his lips were brushed up against her ear, he murmured, “Brave little bitch, aren’t ya?”

He thought she’d maintain her silence, but she surprised him by turning so that their lips were nearly touching.

“Takes one to know one,” she answered softly.

She then had the audacity to wink at him, which drove the Joker wilder than he’d care to admit. With an air of finality, he swung the butt of the pistol as hard as he could, striking her in the temple and knocking her out cold.

A collective breath was released in the room.

Joker gestured in the direction of the basement.

“Morris has been returned safe and _uh_ sound,” he said. “Soooo…return our guests to their humble abodes…_now_.”

Everyone scurried toward the basement, except for Aesop, who approached the knocked-out woman.

“Ah ta-ta-ta,” he said, waving his index finger in a no-no motion, “this one _stays_. Think it’s best we uh get better acquainted.”

Aesop looked like he wanted to argue, but at the last second, decided against it.

“Sure boss.”

Joker pocketed his pistol and to Aesop’s amazement, scooped the woman up from the chair like a delicate bride, pulling her close to his chest. They met other’s eyes.

“Please…don’t hurt her…unless you have to.”

Joker’s cackle did nothing to ease Aesop’s nerves.

“Aw, have a little crush because she complimented your painting?” he mocked. “Don’t worry _Acey_ my boy, I’ll be as chivalrous as possible.”

Aesop frowned at this. Chivalry was dead, and he was staring at one of the men who no doubt helped kill it. 

He settled for a nod and followed his boss to the vans, praying for the first time in over two decades for the woman to survive her encounter in one piece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't watched The Dark Knight in roughly ten years, so Ledger's Joker in this will be a little OOC. I also don't intend to make this story super dark. This was mainly inspired after binge reading a whole bunch of Ledger!Joker fics on FF.net and getting kinda frustrated with all the rampant abuse his "love interests" suffered. Particularly in fiction, I have a tough time placing myself in the shoes of someone who allows themselves to be manipulated and beaten and brainwashed by an abusive man. And I think there is so much more to the Joker than a never-ending stream of violent outbursts. Or I hope there is...only time will tell : )


	2. Chapter 2

When Celine awoke, it was to a splitting headache that felt like someone was sinking their nails into her brain stem.

“Ugh,” she groaned, blinking rapidly.

Her vision wove in and out. Minutes passed before her surroundings were clear enough to absorb.

She was sprawled out on grimy, rotting floorboards in a small, boarded up one-windowed room, wrists liberated of rope. Wherever she was didn’t appear to have any heat. Her arms wrapped around her shivering form, sliding up and down. Fluorescent lights flickered weakly above her.

_Why didn’t he kill me?_

Not that she wasn’t grateful to still have her life intact, but everything hinted at her demise. She’d been at peace with it.

That she was still alive in this bleak, cold room, unnerved her. Had she really upset him so much that he elected to postpone her death and torture her first?

The handle to the only door leading in and out, suddenly began to rattle violently. A _click_ sounded and a moment later, Joker swung it open. She didn’t move from her sitting position as he sauntered in with a whistle. The purple long coat he’d been wearing earlier was missing, as were his gloves. His sleeves clung tight to his arms, hinting at sinewy, taut muscles beneath the fabric.

_He could strangle a god damn grizzly bear with those things._

She bit the inside of her cheek to prevent a chuckle.

“_Celine, Celine, Celine_,” he greeted, slamming the door shut behind him and locking it. “Not as good as Dion, but hey, it’s a lot to live up to!”

She arched a brow.

“You listen to her?”

He seemed aghast, pressing a palm to his chest.

“Near…far…_wherever_ you are,” he belted with the tact of a deaf man, “I _beee_lieve that the heart does _uh_ go on.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or applaud him.

“Watcha think? And _be honest_.”

Her lips wobbled.

“Don’t quit your day job.”

He erupted into a fit of giggles.

“No beating around the bush with you, eh?” he said, taking a few steps toward her. “Could use that in my men. Do you know how _exhausting_ it gets being agreed with _all_…_the_…_time_?”.

“No.” She tilted her head. “Do you?”

“Ooh she’s got jokes!” He clapped in rapid succession. “I wonder…does she also like games? Because I got one I’d like to play and the prize is…_wait for it_…your life!”

He rocked back and forth on his feet in light of this announcement.

“If you wanted me dead so badly, why didn’t you do it at the church?”

“Because you were being _no_ fun. And I uh didn’t give ya much of a fair chance, did I?”

She didn’t appear to have angered him, but he was threatening to kill her. _Again_. She doubted his logic was capable of being deciphered by anyone other than him.

Her eyes flicked to the door.

“You must have gotten your compadre back,” she noted. “Is everyone else safe?”

“Mmm…as safe as this city allows them to be. I like to think I added a little…_flavor_ to their existence. A little cha cha, a little rumba…”

His hips swayed, arms moving like a hula girl.

She couldn’t keep her eyes off him, having never encountered anyone so…unusual. His mannerisms were so utterly his own…so naturally erratic and resistant to expectation. There had to be more to him beneath the makeup, and yet, she didn’t think this Joker persona he embodied was entirely disingenuous. His mannerisms weren’t stolen, merely amplified from who he probably was. She almost wished GPD would throw him in a cage at the zoo instead of carting him off to Arkham. Homicidal tendencies aside, he was fascinating to observe.

“Watcha thinking?”

She was startled to see the distance he’d covered while she’d been lost in thought. A couple of feet at most separated them. He had crouched to sit on the balls of his feet, watching her intensely.

“You belong in a zoo.”

She hadn’t meant to tell the truth, but his gaze was penetrating and difficult to evade. She also got the feeling he was well-versed in knowing when he was being lied to. It’s not like she could be in any deeper shit than she was now.

“Only if I’m in the apex predator exhibit,” he replied, smirking at the idea. “I got a set of jaws and I am _not_ afraid to use them.”

He bared his teeth and snapped them twice at her before emitting a giggle.

The tension in her shoulders was just starting to disperse when he suddenly leaned forward and smacked her solidly across the face. It was enough to topple her over onto her side, the outline of his hand imprinted on her cheek.

“What the hell?” she growled, glaring at him as she massaged her face. “What the hell was that for?”

“You called it yourself, sweets,” he answered, teeming with delight. “Never lower your defenses around a predator. Doesn’t tend to pan out, does it?”

Again, he snapped his jaws at her like a rabid wolf.

Her left foot shot out. Before he could think to close his legs, she nailed him directly in the groin, propelling him onto his back as he cupped himself. A few wheezes exited him, but laughter followed soon after.

“Likewise,” she muttered, returning to a sitting position.

“_Ooh_ Celine,” he lamented, springing back into a crouch, “your death is going to be so, _so_ satisfying.”

She eyed him expectantly.

“Well…get to it then.”

“And skip the foreplay?” He shook his head as if she were the crazy one. “Not. A. _Chance_. Usually I gotta get Batsy’s attention to have this much fun.”

At Batman’s mention, Celine’s eyes flicked back to the door. No doubt he was aware of Joker’s string of kidnappings and that one hostage was missing. She more than welcomed his appearance right about now.

He blocked her view of the door with a graceful shuffle over.

“Aw, don’t tell me you’re thinking of leaving. The fun’s not even begun!”

In the blink of an eye, he was on his feet. His right hand reached into his pants pocket and removed a thick, silver blade that looked like it could easily inflict a mortal wound. Four deep little v-grooves were peppered evenly near the handle.

“This here’s Sally,” Joker introduced, kissing the weapon, smearing it with makeup in the process. “Sally, this here’s Celine. Celine, Sally. Sally, _Celine_.”

She was dismayed to find that some of his antics amused her. Then again, absurdism had always been one of her favorite philosophies on life. Joker was like a self-aware caricature on crack. She suspected this is what held her fear at bay. Though, she internally cautioned herself not to become too comfortable either. He was extremely dangerous. This couldn’t be forgotten.

Seemingly picking up on this line of thought, Joker slid the blade in between two fingers and whipped it at her. Her eyes crinkled shut, only to open when no immediate pain overcame her. The blade was dug into the floorboards, directly in between her thighs, not even an inch away from her groin.

“Now this here-.” He patted his opposite pants pocket and retrieved an exact replica of the blade in between her legs. The only difference was this one gleamed with drying crimson. “-This is Jack. Jack, Celine. Celine, _Jack_.”

He eyed Jack fondly, attempting to catch his reflection as one hand ran through his hair.

“Here’s how the game works,” he explained, tongue dabbing at his scars as his gaze fell to her. “You get Sally, I _get_ Jack. Up to us how we use them. There is a winner and a loser. Winner gets to live, loser uh…_doesn’t_. Easy peasy. Ready to play?”

She doubted she had a choice. With a resigned sigh, she dislodged the knife from between her legs and worked on standing.

Joker wasted no time soaring forward, arm extending like a determined fencer.

She stumbled back to avoid getting speared.

He gave her a few seconds to steady herself before lunging forward again. Having taken her fair share of self-defense classes with crime being as high as it was in Gotham, Celine managed to block his swipe at her shoulder, aiming a swift kick at his chest. He stuttered a few steps back, but easily regained balance.

What ensued was a tango of give and take. It was clear Joker had had years of knife-fighting experience under his belt. No attempt at striking her was ever in the same spot, and he was nimble with his wrist movements and quick as an alley cat on his feet, always seeking to herd her into a corner of the room where her escape options were limited.

And escape is exactly what Celine tried to do. She understood this game’s prize was her life, but anytime she attempted a swipe at him, he knocked it away nonchalantly, taking to cackling a few times afterward. As if to gloat at her inexperience and unimaginative moves.

He stooped low unexpectedly and as she went to defend her stomach, Jack sliced through the meaty flesh of her arm, instantly spewing a waterfall of red.

She choked back a sob and gritted her teeth, wishing to tend to the wound or at least impede its flow in some way. Instead, she opted to back-paddle, making sure to always be aware of the door. If need be, she wasn’t against making a run for it. It was clear just how much amusement Joker was getting from this. And if there’s anything she learned thus far it was that refusing to indulge him got under his skin the most. 

“Mmm…still think peace and love can save the day?” he goaded, twiddling Jack’s handle. “Virtuous as the sentiment is, this here…this _is_ the way of the world. Eat or be _eaten_. Sooner ya adjust, sooner-.”

She bolted towards his ribcage beneath the hand not clutching the blade. With a hasty, low spin, Celine jabbed Sally into his side. Two inches of the blade managed to sink through his layers of clothing and into his pale skin before she retracted it and staggered back, keeping the blade pointed at him.

Joker glanced down at the tear in his emerald vest, and then at the blood blooming through his manila dress shirt.

His eyes snapped up to her. All hints of playfulness were extinguished.

“You _uh_…you’re gonna regret doing that.”

She could feel the sweat cascading down her neck. Her shoulder-length hair was damp and glued to her face. Now that she actually managed to get some damage in, she felt a lot of her avoidance-based tactics desert her. The gravity of her situation was forcing her to tap into a more combative part of her that often lay dormant while mind and spirit ruled. Though a pacifist by nature, she understood the necessity of defending yourself when the moment came. As she learned at a young age, not everyone shared her heart.

That moment was now.

When Joker dove at her, she pivoted, blocking his last-minute attempt at slashing her chest. With a neck breaking speed, he tossed Jack from one hand to the other, rotating on his heels and sending a backhanded jab her way. She counteracted this move with a duck, blade sailing only centimeters above her hairline.

_He’s been holding back on me._

She had suspected as much when his initial moves were jovial and careless. It made her realize she needed to be crafty. To bide her time until the right moment came.

They circled each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. The floorboards continued absorbing their bleeding wounds.

When Joker tossed his knife into the opposite hand, Celine took advantage. With a high-pitched wail that momentarily caught him off guard, she pounced at him. His weapon arm shot out, but she used her shortness to her advantage and easily side stepped the swipe before twirling on her heels, aiming for the side of his thigh.

Having recovered from her unorthodox screech, Joker shot out his leg and kneed her in the face hard enough to send her crashing onto her back and knock loose her knife. Blood gushed from her nostrils and before she was able to gather her bearings, Joker had straddled her abdomen, capturing her wrists in one hand and forcing his leaking blade against her throat.

She thrusted her hips up in an attempt to push him off, but he was much heavier and by the excited giggle he released, guessed he enjoyed it.

“I uh _win_,” he boasted, leaning down so close his hair ended up brushing across her cheeks. “I gotta admit ya have much more fight in ya than I gave ya credit for. Got me a little uh…_worked up_.”

He rolled his pelvis into her. Her eyes widened at feeling his stiff cock grind against her.

“Fucking wonderful,” she groaned, averting his gaze as her face heated up.

“Care for a uh _quickie_ before I get familiar with the inside of your esophagus?”

She knitted her brows and gave him a _are you serious_ look.

He shrugged, licking at his scars.

“I’m not _picky_.”

“Clearly,” she muttered. “I’d rather fuck a broomstick.”

“I ah can certainly get that arranged.”

The longer he babbled, the more his grip slackened around her wrists. She didn’t think twice.

With a lunge that caused his knife to break skin, she crashed her mouth against his. Joker froze at the assault, but parted his lips a second later, allowing her tongue to delve in to meet his.

Her blood mingled into their saliva as she deepened the kiss, dragging out of him a ragged groan. He was insistent on subduing her tongue, but she wasn't having it, taking to swirling hers around; just slow enough to give him the illusion of victory before darting away, forcing him to lean in closer and give chase. The moment he thought he had hers submitted, she languidly stroked the underside of his tongue before pulling away and offering a few soft nips to his bottom lip.

Joker immediately took the bait, releasing her wrists and tangling one hand into her short, silvery locks; the other dropping down to grasp and angle her chin to his liking. She couldn't suppress her grin. If there was one thing she didn't mind tooting her own horn about, it was that she could kiss like a motherfucker possessed. Life, thankfully, had been kind to her in that regard.

She brought her hands to his shoulder, fingers gripping onto the fabric of his vest. Just as he nipped back at her bottom lip, she pushed up with all the strength left in her and rolled them over; fueled by a spike in adrenaline. 

Now, she straddled him, one hand attempting to pin his wrists down while the other snatched Sally and brought it to his throat. Jack had been discarded sometime prior to her gaining the upperhand.

“Oooh _ahahaha_,” Joker shrieked, beaming up at her, face stained with her blood. “She’s got tricks up her sleeve too.”

She was panting as the hand clutching Sally, shook.

“You better end it now,” he added. “Because if you don’_t_, I am going to slit open your throat and wear your blood as face paint.”

“Charming,” she commented, digging the blade in as a warning.

“Do _it_. You’re not leaving this room alive otherwise.”

She noticed he had stopped trying to break his wrists free, which would have been easy to do now as all adrenaline began to abandon her.

“Do it!” he demanded.

_Does he really want to die? _

His words seemed to imply this but one look in his eyes told a different story. He was intentionally provoking her. For what reason, she couldn't be sure. But she didn't want to play into his hands. It's how he maintained his power over others. Drag them down to his level and corner them into making decisions they otherwise wouldn't. Plus, she was _exhausted_. She didn't know how much blood she had lost, only that her vision was beginning to blur at the corners.

_When in doubt weird them out._

She retracted Sally from his throat and instead, drove the blade through the bunched up sleeves of his wrists, nicking his skin in the process. The knife sunk into the floorboards, effectively restraining Joker to the floor.

He glanced up at what she’d done and tried to tug his wrists loose. They stayed put. _For now._

Her hands skimmed down his sides, pausing just above his ribcage. They met each other’s eyes, hers determined, his housing genuine confusion. Which she would never to admit to anyone, was sort of cute.

Her fingers pressed teasingly into his skin. His eyes widened.

“You-.”

She started tickling him. And judging by the whoops of laughter filling up the room, Joker was _extremely_ ticklish. His hips nearly bounced her up and down in an attempt to buck her off. Sally wriggled wildly in her position, working tirelessly at keeping him pinned in place. Tears leaked out of his eyes as she found a particularly…_responsive_ spot in between where two of his ribs curved in, and another one just south of his left arm pit.

“Aahhaha hahaha haha yo- _you’re_\- you-.”

She wasn’t sure if the blood loss had made her temporarily lose it, but pretty soon her laughter joined his. He looked like a little boy in this moment, desperately attempting to evade the dreaded tickle monster. No fury, no apathy, no mockery. Joker howled and yelped and hollered at the sensations until his wrists finally broke free of Sally’s hold.

She stopped immediately, hands dropping to his heaving chest.

“_Celine, Celine, Celine_,” he practically sang, licking his lips, “you should have killed me when you had the chance because you are _in_ for it _now_.”

Gulping, she tried to scramble off him, but he was much quicker. One arm shot around her waist and rolled them back over so he was on top once more. She expected the worst and briefly chastised herself for not killing him when she had the chance. But just as quickly, she countered it with the reality of the situation: she had never killed anyone in her life and she wasn’t going to be antagonized into it for his amusement.

Joker re-pinned her wrists with one hand and slipped his other hand beneath her t-shirt, skimming the skin with his nails before landing near her ribs.

Realization dawned on her.

“Don’t you da-.”

If she thought she had been relentless, it was nothing compared to Joker. His fingers sank into her skin with an unforgiving roughness, curling and prodding at her flesh until her body quivered and twisted, peels of laughter bouncing off the walls. He tickled her so hard it bordered on painful. Her hips wriggled violently beneath him. This action reintroduced her to his firm cock, which ground expertly against her each time she lifted her lower body.

Joker soaked in her responses, caught between laughing like a banshee and grunting after each dry hump.

She didn’t want to resort to begging, but he was leaving her little choice.

“P-_please_,” she gasped in between tears, “I-can’t-_please_.”

“You brought this on yourself sweets,” he sang back, delighted to hear her pleads. “Say _Joker is the best kisser in Gotham_ and I uh _might_ consider stopping.”

“Fuck that!” she yipped.

His fingers stopped, only to relocate to her other side. He renewed his assault, getting dangerously close to his own climax as she continued to struggle beneath him, a new set of agonized shrieks filling the room.

“Mmm,” he moaned, hips jerking erratically, “Say _it_ and I’ll _stop_.”

Her lungs burned from a lack of oxygen. The room spun as her head sunk to the floor with a _thump_.

“Please,” she murmured, black spots appearing in her vision. “I can’t-.”

She nearly regained consciousness upon feeling a tongue at her throat. It took her a few seconds to realize he was lapping up the blood from the shallow cut she forced him to make. His hips continued to rock wildly against her until he finally exhaled a strangled groan.

_Did he just get off to this?_

This was her final thought as darkness overcame her.

Joker dropped his weight onto her, panting heavily against her neck. His fingers halted their assault, nails content to lazily skim over her skin. He released her wrists and gripped her waist, thumb stroking her hip bone. He eyed the cut he had slobbered all over, cock twitching as more cum trickled out.

“Aren’t you just _full_ of surprises?” he mumbled against her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by the indie video game First Person Lover, where bullets in guns are replaced with bubbled hearts and every time you shoot a bad person with the hearts, they become less bad until they're good again. If only real life was that simple, eh? 
> 
> The tickling scene was one of my favorite things to write in a long time. I like to think, even if he doesn't know it yet, that Joker has finally met his match. Granted, they're on at the very opposite sides of the spectrum as far as beliefs go, but what bonds them is their understanding of the world and their decision to surrender to its unpredictability, even indulging in it themselves. Whereas Joker is fueled by a thirst for anarchy and chaos, Celine is fueled by mercy and a deep sense of benevolence. They really are writing themselves and I can't wait to see how they choose to interact.


	3. Chapter 3

Joker relocated Celine’s unconscious body to a slightly larger room serving as a recovery unit for his men’s more gruesome injuries. Most were police or Batman-inflicted, but a few were courtesy of himself. Sometimes he simply couldn’t help it. There were levels of stupidity he could overlook and then there were levels he…_couldn’t_. The levels he couldn’t usually ended with someone getting shot. In most cases, fatally.

“Hiya Doc.”

Ed peeked up from his glasses, folding the corner of the _Gotham Gazette_. Miraculously, he’d gone almost twenty-four hours without having to tend to any of Joker’s personnel. Which meant boss man was in a good mood. He had been too up until Nelson stopped by earlier with concerns that he’d acquired syphilis after a rowdy night out. Ed had been quick to inform him he wasn’t that kind of doctor. The less malformed genitalia he was exposed to the better.

“Need the missus here patched up,” he indicated, setting Celine down on a creaky mattress. “Had a uh little too _much_ fun with her.”

His pity was brief. Joker paid well for his loyalty. Three years later and he no longer questioned his boss’s motives or intentions.

“What are the critical points?”

“I uh.” He brushed back some of her white-blonde strands so her face was more visible. “May have nicked a vein in her forearm. Think I broke her nose too. And maybe a teeny _tiiiiny_ cut below her jugular.”

He giggled at this, index finger following the shallow trail embedded in her neck and tracing it back and forth a few times.

Ed surveyed the scene with well-hidden intrigue.

“Give me an hour and she’ll be good as new.”

Joker lingered for…_practical_ purposes as Ed got to work patching the girl up. Her t-shirt and jeans were bloodied beyond repair, so, they were the first articles of clothing to be cut and discarded.

“Shit,” Ed mumbled as soon as her bare thighs were revealed. “How many you think there are?”

From pelvis to kneecap her thighs were littered with self-inflicted cuts. They were well-healed over, indicating they weren’t carved any time recently, but the amount was enough to temporarily usher in a contemplative silence.

“Seventy-four,” Joker counted, fingers grazing one that curved into her knee cap. “She’s been a busy girl.”

Despite her voluptuous, half-naked form - which was certainly _easy_ on the eyes – it was her scars he couldn’t keep his eyes off of. He hadn’t taken her for a cutter, presuming her to be much too…_soft_ for such a debasing act. It both heightened her appeal and muddled his understanding of who she was.

In light of her conversation with Aesop, Joker had her pegged as a naïve girl with foolish, idealistic tendencies. These types tended not to stay alive long in a city as crime-ridden as Gotham. She may have carried a resolve, but he figured after their…_spar_, that resolve would crumble with the ease of a house of cards, and he’d hold the privilege of introducing her to how the world actually worked.

He hadn’t counted on her ability to adapt. He hadn’t counted on her nerve. And he certainly hadn’t counted on her refusal to maim him when given the chance.

She probably wasn’t aware of it, but the more she subverted his expectations, the more his curiosity built. It was probably in his best interest to return her before Batsy came knocking on his door, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it just yet. He needed to _tinker_ around a little more in her psyche. Get a solid feel for his white rabbit before sending her hopping back, preferably knocked off her high horse.

“Need to be patched up too?”

Joker tore his gaze away from her thighs. His wounds weren’t anything he couldn’t handle himself.

“I’ll be fine, Doc. Focus on _Slicerella_ here and let me know if uh anything changes.”

“Will do.”

Three hours later and Joker was stripping himself out of blood-soaked clothes. His meeting with the newest mafia family to Gotham – mouthy transplants from Bangkok – had not gone as smoothly as he had hoped. Granted, it was always nice to establish who ran the show in this festering fleabox of a city, but his suit was thoroughly ruined and he didn’t look forward to having a new one tailored. His seamster was getting up there in years and his quality of work wasn’t what it used to be. He considered on more than one occasion simply putting the old man out of his misery, but Abe had served him diligently in the past, often on short notice, and it was a little more difficult gathering the motivation to kill him as opposed to others in his employment.

After a long shower, he placed his order to Abe, which wouldn’t be ready for a week. An entire week! It was enough to put him in a grumpy mood. Which is why the henchman who knocked on his door ended up the _lucky_ recipient of a blade to the abdomen.

“_Well_,” Joker stressed as the man hunched over, fingers struggling to prevent more blood from seeping out, “are you here for a reason or did you just wanna bleed out on the floor for shits and giggles?”

He gurgled and coughed.

“Um _uh_ I-_Crane’s_ here- t-to see you.”

He slapped the man on the shoulder hard enough to send him toppling out into the hallway.

“Best go see the Doc. That does _not_ look pretty,” he remarked with a giggle. “Oh, and _uh_\- if our favorite hostage is u**_p_**, have Doc send her my direction.”

When he strolled into the lounge area – when his men weren’t preoccupied with their duties, they took to polishing their weapons and playing cards here – the former doctor was indeed waiting for him, all by his lonesome.

Joker blew out a low whistle.

“Lookin’ a little worse for the wear there _Johnny_. Hear you’ve been having a helluva time evading the Bat.”

Crane’s hair was disheveled, and dark circles had formed under his eyes. The white dress shirt he wore was matted with dirt and scattered with cuts. He looked like someone had tossed him down a mountain. _Several_ times.

The former psychologist combed a hand through his hair, attempting to appear somewhat composed.

“I’m here to negotiate Celine Harlow’s release.”

Joker’s eyes narrowed.

“On uh _whose_ behalf?”

This question seemed to annoy Crane. He stalked forward.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“Oh no _no no no_ Johnny boy, it very much _is_ relevant. I’ve uh…grown quite _attached_ to my rabbit. Need to sorta…_know_ who I’ll be releasing her to. Would hate for it to be someone… _untoward_.”

Crane’s jaw flexed. He had to wrestle to keep Scarecrow at bay.

“I’ll give you two tanks of the newest serum,” he offered as coolly as possible. “Perfected and longer lasting than any past versions. Something the…**_Batman_** won’t have an antidote to. Not right away at least.”

“Hmm…tempting as that is, you-ah _didn’t_ exactly answer my question,” Joker maintained, throwing himself down on a well-worn couch. “And until ya answer with the truth, I’ll uh have to insist on keeping my rabbit in her cage where she belongs.”

“Fuck _that_.”

Crane and Joker snapped their attention to the figure lingering at the entryway of the lounge, using the wall to support herself. Upon baring witness to the amount of crazy occupying the lounge, Ed returned to tend to the latest near-casualty.

“Welcome back, sweets!” Joker greeted. “I was just telling the good doctor how _well_ we’ve been getting along.”

She wandered further into the room clad in black sweats that engulfed her. Her nose appeared to be back in position and bandaged up.

“John?”

Crane blushed and dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Cel-_ahem_ Miss Harlow.”

Celine had just passed the moth-eaten couch he reclined on when Joker reached out and grabbed her by the waistband of her sweatpants. With a sharp tug, she landed on his lap, fingers digging into his shoulders to maintain balance.

She threw him a dirty look, causing Joker to grin sheepishly.

“_Whoops_.” He shrugged and spread his legs so she could settle herself in between them. “Now that you’re here, might as well get _cozy_. And uh…enlighten me of your relation with the good doctor. You-_you’re_ aware he’s a little bit um…_nuts_, right?”

She tried to scoot to the very edge of the cushion, but he yanked her back into him a little harder than he needed to. To his delight, she chose not to fight. Not because she enjoyed her position, but because she was a smart cookie and knew when to choose her battles. It was quickly becoming one of his favorite traits of hers.

“You don’t have to tell him anything,” Crane said.

“Oh you hush,” Joker scolded, rubbing his cheek against her shoulder blade. “You’re not getting my rabbit until I learn the nature of your…_relationship_.”

She tilted her head toward him. Just for fun, he nipped at her earlobe. His reward was a tantalizing shade of pink spreading from her cheekbone down to her collarbone.

“Are the pet names necessary?” she asked with a grimace. “I don’t go around calling you my big grizzly bear.”

“Maybe you should star**_t_**,” came his suggestion. “I _don’t_ mind in the slightest.”

He followed this up with a throaty _growl _into her ear, nearly missing the quick upturn of her lip.

“I met John when he was head psychologist at Arkham,” she explained, focus returning to Crane. “I’d finished securing an investor for my app and needed to find licensed psychologists. John…helped me with that.”

She shifted slightly between his thighs.

“Mmm…” he hummed, “I could believe that’s all it was, but you’re on a first name base with him. Ya don’t gotta be shy with me…did you let him _taste_ some of your sugar? _Lick up_ some of your honey? _Bareback_ it ‘til the cows came home?”

Crane was eying him murderously, fingers twitching against his leg.

“No, no, and certainly _not_,” she denied, glancing at him. “John was a professional in every sense of the word. We’ve known each other for almost two years. You called Aesop, _Ace_. It stands to reason that the longer you know someone, the less formal you need to be in each other’s presence, right?”

He eyed her impishly.

“_Well_, by your logic then, seeing as we’ve uh gotten _comfy_ with each other and you gave me quite the big ole’ smooch…pet names are a natural progression in _our_ relationship.”

“That kiss was nothing more than strategy and you know it.” She twisted on his lap to face him. “When you corner an animal, no matter how domesticated it might be, the deep-seeded reaction is to do whatever possible to survive. It was _survivor’s_ instinct. If you need me to explain that to you, I take it you haven’t been laid in a _very_ long time.”

Crane nearly smacked himself in the face. Did the daft girl not _realize_ he was trying to save her? Mouthing off to the psychotic clown (_nevermind how amusing he found it_) was all but a death sentence.

He jumped a little when Joker responded with a boisterous cackle.

“Oooh are ya offering?” He pinched the jutting flesh above her hip. When she jerked up, he lifted her by the edge of her thigh, so she was sitting sideways across his lap. “’Cos you know I won’t say no to you.”

She stared at him. _Hard_. Her expression had gone blank, as if she were determining all the avenues in which to respond.

Joker meanwhile attempted to give her his best suave look. Which mainly consisted of wagging his eyebrows and grinning in a way that hinted at all the filthy things he was capable of doing to her.

“No thank you,” she elected on, dropping her gaze.

“_Now_ _now_,” he said, sneaking a finger beneath her chin, “no need to get shy on me, little bunny.”

She wrapped a couple of her fingers around the one under her chin. Her eyes didn’t waver as she spoke.

“That’s not shyness, it’s survivor’s instinct,” she reiterated. “Seeing as you probably won’t react well to me saying _I’d rather plow a used dildo you big dumb bear_, I settled on _no thank you_.”

In the blink of an eye, Joker shoved her off him. She landed on the floor in an awkward heap, groaning softly.

Crane made to step toward her, but Joker was already on his feet, positioning himself in front of her slumped body.

“Ah _ta-ta-ta_, take another step forward and I’ll skin _both_ you lovebirds alive and hang ya above my bed.”

Celine peeked at Jonathan through Joker’s legs. His calm expression registered successfully. _Be cool and mind your tongue. _

She would do this out of necessity, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. A violent Joker she could handle. Violence – no matter the sanity of the individual carrying it out – tended to be relatively predictable. The body moved more primally when bad thoughts brewed.

What she was having a hard time with was Joker’s blatant flirtation. He did it to get under her skin and throw her off, and she surprised herself by engaging with it. When they weren’t at each other’s throat, banter came suspiciously easy. And in these moments, her tongue wasn’t as disciplined as it needed to be.

“This negotiation is over,” Joker confirmed, licking at his scars. “I suggest you scram. Celine and I need to discuss…_courtesy_…and uh…_manners_.”

She threw Jonathan a genuinely troubled look.

“I’d make that discussion quick,” Jonathan suggested, clasping his arms behind him. “Every citizen in Gotham is looking for Miss Harlow, Batman included. And he won’t be nearly as…_cordial_ as I’ve been.”

Joker cocked his head, considering this.

A moment later and Crane was howling something fierce as he tried to remove the knife lodged into the fleshy interior of his shoulder.

Celine couldn’t help but scramble up to her feet, freezing only when Joker turned and aimed a stormy look at her.

“Well _uh_, this has been fun,” he said, offering Crane a mocking bow. “And _no_ rush at all, but if you could get that knife back to me when it’s uh…_not_ in ya, I’d appreciate it.”

She longed to offer Jonathan a soothing word, but Joker had snatched her by the upper arm and flung her in front of him. She just barely gathered her balance, the throbbing in her arm reawakening with a vengeance.

_This is good. John knows I’m here. Even if Joker loses it and kills me, my body won’t be lost in a river or beneath several feet of concrete. Bright side. Bright side!_

Joker trailed her silently. The only indication she was heading in the right direction came from his tugs on the back of her sweatshirt. He would halt and then steer her in the appropriate direction.

They ended up back in the room of their knife spar. As he locked the door, she languidly scanned the blood splats, wondering whose was whose.

“I’m gonna give ya one last chance to tell me how you and Johnny boy know each other.” His blade sank into her cheek with a sting.

She closed her eyes, palms coming to rest atop one another. Her breathing – which had escalated upon witnessing Jonathan being stabbed – slowed. She inhaled for five seconds, paused, exhaled for seven. Inhale for five. Pause. Exhale for seven.

Joker had only read about what she was doing. It served a variant of purposes, namely calming one’s anxiety and being a precursor to easing into a meditative state.

She had closed her eyes in front of the most dangerous man in Gotham and worked on re-centering herself.

“I don’t like many people knowing this,” she started, eyes still closed. “It’s not guilt I feel…but it’s _similar_. I’ve come to peace with my decision, but it’s earned me some notoriety.”

Her eyes popped open, burning with a tangible energy.

“Everything I told you is true. John-.”

Joker’s opposite hand grabbed her cheek and pinched until her eyes were watering.

“You refer to him either as _Crane_ or _Crow_, got it?”

He could tell this was one of those times she wanted to argue, but after a few seconds, chose to stand down.

_Smart girl, _he thought, unable to keep his thumb from stroking her cheek as reward.

“Jo-_Crane _never cared for the purpose of my app. He’s always had a calculated, open and shut take on suicide. Lots of his views are very Darwinian-inspired.”

She paused to make sure he knew what she meant.

“I’m not an idiot like _the masses_,” he confirmed, nearly rolling his eyes.

“I-_sorry_.”

Her gaze faltered. Joker removed the blade from her cheek and slipped it under her chin, pressing up until her focus was back on him. There was so much awareness and animation in her eyes… if you knew enough about humans, studied them long enough…you could read her like an open book. And she knew she was to him because he watched her the same way she watched others. Reading, analyzing, storing away micro-expressions and barely-there reactions to muse over later.

In that moment, they recognized the other capable of this: a deep understanding of the variety of emotions humanity could produce.

They stared at each other until Joker finally broke the spell.

“I’m surprised you’d uh…_associate_ with someone like Crane. Seems like it’d go against your more…bohemian values.”

“He is callous and clinical and entirely deprived of empathy.” She smiled crookedly at this. “One of the best indicators of what sort of person I’m dealing with is their reaction to those in a more submissive role.”

When Joker cocked his head, she elaborated.

“I take people I’m trying to figure out, to fast food places or diners where there’s a wait staff. I take them to pet stores or dog parks. How you treat customer service workers who are in a position where they are strong-armed into taking the brunt of human incivility… how you treat animals that are smaller and less developed mentally than you…your reaction in these sort of environments are some of the best tell-tale signs of what your values are at the core.”

Joker contemplated this. His grin followed shortly after.

“I uh take it Johnny boy failed the moral compass test.”

“He scared the shit out of me,” she admitted. “Sometimes, you can recognize when you’re in the presence of true, unbridled apathy. The only reason I didn’t book it in the other direction…well…maybe two reasons. One…I’d never had the chance to observe a sociopath up close. He didn’t catch on for awhile that I was doing this. The second reason is…we shared a common interest in mind-altering substances.”

She was no longer struggling to meet his eyes. Now that he encouraged her along, she was back to being at ease around him. Even though she shouldn’t have been.

But Joker couldn’t deny he liked it. Someone speaking without fear or hesitation around him. He hated it, _and_ he liked it. Especially when it came from someone as layered as her.

Not thinking twice, he slid one hand around her waist and settled it on her back. The other skimmed its way along the length of her arm before snaking into her hovering fingers. She was startled, but then Joker began to sway with her, guiding her patiently around the room. 

She chose not to say anything. If he preferred to dance with her over holding a knife to her face, who was she to complain?

“You know of his fear serum?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, abruptly dipping her.

“Well-.” She was brought back up for air. “-He told me a little bit about it after I mentioned how micro dosing on psilocybin in magic mushrooms was pioneering a new way of treating depression and anxiety.”

“A product of the wrong decade, eh flower child?”

The playful remark had her cheeks stained with pink again.

“We all have our own path to recovery,” she deflected. “Some of our paths are a little more…unorthodox than others. A little less sociably acceptable. The mind is the most corporeal tool we have in this plane of existence, even if a lot of it is nothing but chemical reactions. Jo-_Crane_ and I understood this. Perception creates our physical reality.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He twirled her around until she was dizzy on her feet, body slumping into his. The move gave him an excuse to pull her in closer.

Momentarily lightheaded, Celine blinked a few times.

“I-I told him of my experiences with psychedelics and how much they helped me in unraveling years of self-inflicted trauma. He told me about the prototype of his fear serum. I uh…I was intrigued.”

He froze, fingers ever so slowly tightening around hers.

“You…_let him_ test his serum on you?”

She was surprised to hear such hostility in his tone. It snapped her out of the warm stupor she’d cocooned herself in.

“I volunteered,” she answered just as sharply. “I wanted to test my limits mentally. I wanted to acquaintance myself with a state of consciousness that if…if explored and understood well enough…could help…_liberate_ me of what held me back.”

They were no longer swaying, frozen in the middle of the room, gripping each other.

“I let him dose me with the prototype eleven times,” she confirmed. “I built up a resistance to it by the end. Mind over matter. Because of John…I fear very little. I’m able to recognize when my mind runs away with anxiety. When it seeks to heighten the unknown until I’m petrified with indecision. He…went on to do awful things to others. Gas unsuspecting civilians and use his perfected toxin as an agent of control for areas in his life he felt lacking in. I don’t ever think of our time together and not feel guilty. But-.”

Her eyes flicked to the floor before meeting his.

“-_sometimes_, you can’t help when your desire for knowledge compliments someone else’s. You can’t help when your morbid curiosity can be reflected like a mirror. John and I…beneath our ethical disagreements, we share many of the same existence-rooted questions, many of the same hopes of gaining true freedom in this lifetime. We’ve just gone about two separate paths in achieving it. But…people don’t come into your life for no reason. And…as _fucked up_ as it is…our search for the truth has bound us together. There isn’t a reaction I can’t make that he won’t understand. There isn’t a look he can send someone that I won’t be able to decrypt. That…_that_ is the full nature of our relationship. We’re two odd ducks who happen to be riding an even wavelength.”

She didn’t know whether to be more nervous for her sake or for Jonathan’s. The entire nature of her relationship with the former doctor was privy only to the counselor she’d gone too after Crane’s capture. Her feelings at the time – when guilt didn’t weigh down like a rusty anchor – caused a conflict of conscience. Jonathan had been the most dangerous and morally absent friend she ever made, and what’s more, despite everything he had done to contradict her values, she missed him when he got put away.

Her counselor had been a freshly graduated psychology major with an emphasis in neurology, and thankfully worked her through these feelings one session at a time. Rather than scold her like she assumed would happen, she had been complimented for the ability to navigate life’s grayer moments. Strengths and weaknesses existed within every human being alive, but most chose to focus on one or the other. She understood human beings were complex and provided they didn’t commit to one version of themselves, held a multitude of reasons for doing what they did at any given moment.

Celine hadn’t condoned Jonathan’s cruelty and the first time she visited him at Arkham, she acknowledged his mayhem with a punch to the face. He wasn’t remorseful for his actions, but he had been remorseful that he disappointed her. Between them was still a mutual respect cultivated in their time together that refused to die. Even seeing him earlier had her heart brimming with a familiar warmth.

She didn’t have to agree with him or jump through hoops to justify his actions. If he ever tried harming someone in her presence, she’d do whatever humanly possible to prevent it. That was her being true to herself. But on the same coin…they cared for each other…they _got_ one another.

Sometimes, that simply was that. Some relationships are meant to thrive in a gray area so as to further the knowledge of self. And meeting Jonathan Crane was like opening up a doorway to a deeper realm of less polished, less easily determined emotions. Only when they were deciphered and compartmentalized appropriately and in a helpful manner did she become just a little bit more whole.

“Do you think I’m crazy?” she blurted.

Joker had backed away after her revelation, keeping a cool distance between them.

“Crazy is…_relative_.” She had a had a difficult time reading him; he was intentionally closing himself off from her. “Do _you_ think you’re crazy?”

“Most of Gotham would probably raise hell at seeing someone like me and someone like you conversing so amicably. It’s a defiance of narrative expectations. I-I think you’re right, crazy _is_ relative.”

The residual silence was interrupted by a mournful bellow sounding from Celine’s stomach. She blushed and patted at it.

Before she could think to ask how long she’d be remaining a hostage, Joker turned on his heels and exited the room, the _click_ of the lock echoing throughout the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to miss QueenMarie1345 who kindly revealed to me that the last chapter got her off. That is a hell of a compliment and I will use it to inspire future interactions!  
Also, I'm not saying the ghost of Heath Ledger is encouraging me to pump these chapters out...but...our eyes are only perceptible to less than 1% of the electromagnetic spectrum...so uh...*peers around suspiciously* who knows?


	4. Chapter 4

In the aftermath of Joker’s exit, Celine plopped down in the middle of the room. She tucked her legs in and rested the back of her hands atop her knees. Though exhaustion weighed heavily, a manic sort of energy buzzed through her, no doubt courtesy of her captor. Being around him made it difficult to keep calm, though she was impressed with herself thus far.

Usually she meditated on the floor of her living room with sandalwood incense burning and a playlist running on Youtube of binaural beats or sound bytes of nature like waves crashing against a shoreline or the hums and buzzes of a jungle deep in the Amazonian. She didn’t have these sounds on hand, but they were practically ingrained in her brain by now, so it wasn’t too difficult to recall them.

She evened out her breathing and worked on recentering herself, clearing her mind of all that had transpired in the time Joker had knocked her out in the church to their tense conversation regarding John.

It was tough to do. Tougher than times before. That her safety couldn’t be guaranteed, that it was out of her control, burdened her with an anxiety she hadn’t felt since the worst years of her alcoholism. Why now it was all suddenly coming to her, she didn’t know, but she worked fiercely at processing the emotions and then letting them go. Process, let go. Process. _Let go_.

This was the state Aesop found her in an hour later when he unlocked the door. He watched her for a moment, not wanting to interrupt.

But he didn’t need to wait long.

“That looks delicious,” she remarked upon opening her eyes.

He smiled half-heartedly, kicking the door shut before approaching her.

“I’m guessing boss didn’t bother to feed you.”

Her stomach answered for her. She accepted the saran-wrapped sandwich with a grateful smile.

“Thank you,” she said, tearing into the ham and swiss. “He won’t be upset with you, will he?”

Aesop lowered himself to her level and sat down.

“So long as you don’t say anything, I won’t either. And truthfully…his personal hostages tend not to last long enough to require being fed.”

“Personal hostages?” Her brows furrowed. “Does he do this often?”

Aesop suddenly looked very uncomfortable. In any other case, Celine would have let the topic drop, but considering her uncertain predicament, she wanted to be prepared. With the exception of their knife fight, Joker had been much more decent to her than she anticipated. She didn’t count on this behavior lasting much longer.

“I don’t want to be tortured, but if that’s his plan it’d be nice to know beforehand.”

Again, he seemed hesitant to divulge what was on his mind.

“_Please_.”

His nod was tentative.

“Usually the people he takes as hostages…they’re disposable leverage. Once he gets what he wants, you become expendable. Had he not taken you from the group you were kidnapped with, you’d have probably been safe. Traumatized slightly but returned all the same.”

She frowned, suddenly not very hungry anymore.

“He got what he wanted,” she noted. “Your compadre back. What’s the point in keeping me longer than necessary?”

Aesop dropped his gaze to his lap.

“Some…_some_ hostages he doesn’t take for leverage. He takes them for his own…purposes.”

“I don’t understand.”

His shoulders tensed up.

“He uh…believe it or not, he has a fondness for those who are mentally resilient. He sees that resilience as a challenge. If you haven’t noticed he gets off on psychological domination. It’s a kink of his I think. To warp you mentally so you’re left only as a shell of the person you once were.”

She soaked in this information, unease bubbling in her chest.

“Is that why I’m still here?”

He met her straightforward gaze, his unease much more prevalent than hers.

“I can’t say for sure…he doesn’t ever let in anyone else on his plans. But…you are his type,” he admitted.

She nodded, drawing her knees up and wrapping both arms around them.

“How does he break them?”

“It varies on the person. He’s scary good at reading people. I’ve watched him do it to new guys before. He finds their weaknesses and uses it against them. He gets into your head until you’re convinced he knows you better than you do. And then he plays with you until he gets bored.”

“And then what happens?”

His eyes shot back to his lap.

“More often than not, he kills them. Sometimes, they kill themselves. If they’re important like a lawyer or police officer, he lets them go so they can serve as his inside people. All depends on his mood.”

“Wonderful,” she murmured. “What happens if you endure?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “No one ever has.”

She let her chin fall to the v between her knees.

Aesop glanced at her from beneath his lashes. He felt for the girl, he really, really did. It was a cruel twist of fate that such a compassionate and thoughtful person should find themselves in the clutches of his boss. Not that his other victims lacked these traits but having interacted with Celine and getting a real sense of what sort of individual existed within, it filled him with a very tangible dread to see what Joker had planned.

“Is John okay?”

He cocked his head.

“John?”

“Dr. Crane. Joker threw a knife at him.”

“Oh, yeah Crow’s fine. Not the first time he’s been put through the ringer. But they’ve been on good terms with each other for awhile now, so I don’t get what he did this time around to deserve it.”

She was just as confused but chose to not pay it any more attention than needed.

“You don’t happen to know if Batman is looking for me, do you?”

“Probably. But we’ve been holed up here for almost two years and he’s yet to find us. I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

He felt guilty at voicing this but didn’t want to provide her with any false hope.

She was silent for a long while, contemplating something he couldn’t figure out. He didn’t mind sitting with her. Might as well have it be him than his boss.

“I don’t want to die here, Aesop,” she finally said, meeting his eyes. “I also don’t intend to give in or let him manipulate me. It’s all a game to him. I’m choosing not to participate. This…will most likely end in my death.”

He nodded.

“I’m at peace with my mistakes,” she continued. “I’m at peace with my flaws. There isn’t anything he can say to me that I haven’t said or thought to myself in my lowest moments. I’d like to think he can’t surprise me, but he isn’t like anyone I’ve ever encountered.”

Her gaze scorched him.

“I need your help, Aesop.”

“I can’t,” he responded. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. If you escape, he’ll know I helped you. And…you might be at ease with dying, but I’m not.”

Her nod was understanding, which only amplified his guilt.

“Okay then.” She gave him the bunched-up saran wrap. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to be left alone.”

It was the last thing he wished to do but he found himself helpless in indulging her.

Before he reached the door, he turned to her.

“I am sorry.”

“I know you are.”

He exited the room and locked it, fighting the urge to heave. When he reached the makeshift kitchen, he tossed the wrap in the garbage and rested his forearms on the counter, two hands running through his hair. He massaged his temples until he was dizzy.

A hand struck the back of his shoulder, causing him to jump.

“Acey my boy,” Joker greeted, fingers tightening on his flesh. “Spared a little visit to our hostage I hear.”

“I-yeah.” He fought hard not to appear as nervous as he felt.

“Mmm, smart not to lie about it.” His grip tightened. “We uh…we remembered _t-a_ keep our hands and feet to ourselves?”

His face paled.

“Of course, boss. She’s yours.”

Joker eyed him for a long moment. Slowly, he released him and brought a blade up to his bottom lip, tapping it a few times.

“I uh…like that,” he mused, gaze straying upward. “_Mine_.”

Aesop tried to gauge the expression on Joker’s face. It wasn’t one he’d ever worn in his presence, which made it tough to give a name to.

“It must kill you,” Joker said suddenly, training his gaze on him. “That she’ll be my guinea pig for the _duuuration_ of her stay.”

He didn’t answer immediately, choosing his words wisely.

“I wouldn’t underestimate her,” he decided on. “She’s tougher than she looks.”

“You _uh_ saying I can’t get inside her pretty little head?”

His shrug was half-hearted.

“You can try.”

Aesop was relieved when Joker started laughing.

“Oooh hoo hoo she’s got you wrapped around her finger doesn’t she? Panting like a schoolboy in love.”

He reddened.

“I-I’m not.”

“Salivating like a bitch, eager to hear more compliments so you can get your dick up.”

Aesop hung his head. He didn’t trust himself not to say something that wouldn’t end in his death.

“Aw, struck a nerve have we?” He cocked his head and pointed his knife at him. “You uh ever feed her without my permission again it’s the last thing you’ll do, got it?”

He longed to argue but was too afraid of the consequences.

“Got it.”

“Good.” He cocked his head the opposite direction. “How’s she uh _holding up_?”

“In decent spirits all things considering.”

“Well let’s just see if we can’t change that.”

He turned and sauntered away, humming a tune under his breath.

Celine had just placed her head down atop her hands, aiming for a bit of sleep when a thud sounded throughout the room. Her eyebrows shot together. The thud repeated itself, coming from the boarded-up window. She scrambled up and staggered toward it.

The moment she reached the boards, the noises stopped.

“Celine?” a gruff voice sounded.

Her eyes widened.

“_Bruce_?”

“I need you to step back.”

She did so, heart nearly skipping a beat. _What fantastic timing_, she thought. Truth be told, her conversation with Aesop had alarmed her more than she wanted to admit. She didn’t care to be another statistic. Another hostage discarded by an apathetic madman. She had worked too hard to get to a point in her life where being present in her existence was truly worth it. Life was fleeting, but amazing once you relearned how to appreciate it. She wanted more than anything to continue living it, undisturbed.

She back peddled until she was nearly touching the opposite wall.

Seconds later and the wood boarding up the windows, splintered into different directions with a teeth-rattling _boom!_ Smoke clouded the room, forcing her to put an arm over her mouth to prevent inhalation.

Just as she made to step forward, the door knob began to jiggle.

“Shit,” she mumbled, dashing to the window.

It was thankfully wide enough for her to crawl out of, but night was upon Gotham and Batman was nowhere to be found. A quick glance down made her stomach drop. She was at least five stories high with no means of getting out without jumping.

“_Celineeee_.” The knob twisted.

She shakily climbed onto the ledge, fingers gripping onto the edges of the building to prevent a fall. The wind whipped her hair around. She peered through the strands, catching a black movement out of the corner of her eye below. And then again.

“Now uh what do we have here?”

She turned to see Joker at the entryway. His steps toward her were slow and cautious.

“Last time I ah checked, you’re not a birdy. So uh why don’t ya hop on down before you get hurt.”

She would do no such thing. Maybe she really was crazy, but she much preferred her chances outside the window than inside.

“Oh I can see that pretty little brain of yours runnin’.” His voice descended into a menacing murmur. “I’m gonna give ya to the count of three. One.”

They continued staring at each other.

“_Twooo_,” he counted with a little more force, halfway to her.

Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. _Now or never_, she thought.

“Three,” she finished for him.

Without hesitation, she turned and jumped.

A scream tried to escape her, but the rapid descent stifled it. Her eyes swung shut and just as she wondered if she hadn’t made the stupidest decision of her life, her body struck something solid. Her eyes crept open as arms secured her into a heavily-padded body.

“Oh thank god,” she whispered, gazing up at Batman.

He had strung a batarang to the roof of the building with a thin, sturdy rope attached. It worked at halting their descent until she could feel ground beneath her feet once more.

“We have to get out of here,” he said, slicing through the rope.

“You’re not hearing any complaints from me.”

She thought he would release her so she could run, but his arms remained firmly wrapped around her. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure if her legs would even work at this point; so, she was content to curl them around his waist and let him sprint them as far away from the building as possible.

They had just reached the Batmobile when gunfire rang out, a few bullets whizzing by her head.

Bruce threw open the passenger door and hastily shoved her in, slamming the door after her.

He was in the driver’s seat in seconds, gunning the pedal like a…well…_bat_ out of hell.

They didn’t speak until the building was erased from view.

“Are you okay?”

She didn’t trust herself to speak without stuttering.

“Yeah,” she breathed out, glancing at him. “Thanks Bruce. I…was really hoping you would show up.”

Neither acknowledged what would have happened if he hadn’t.

“How’d you know where I was?” 

He reduced his speed slightly as they entered the outskirts of the city. Which really wasn’t saying much considering Bruce drove like Evil Knievel on coke.

“Crane contacted me,” he said, sparing her a glance. “We made an agreement. I wait twenty-four hours before pursuing him in exchange for your location.”

She wanted to laugh, wishing she could have bore witness to that conversation. She also made a mental note to thank John next time she encountered him. That he pulled through for her in such a pivotal moment filled her with unending gratitude.

“Did he hurt you?”

This was asked tentatively, as if he were hesitant of the answer.

“Slashed my arm, broke my nose, got a little cut on my neck. Nothing I won’t recover from. He had one of his men patch me up.”

Bruce’s attention was immediately on her.

“Jesus watch the road!” she yelped as they narrowly clipped another vehicle.

“He let you see a doctor?”

“Yes.”

His eyes returned ahead.

“It was just so he didn’t kill me prematurely. Aesop told me he likes it when his hostages resist. Gets off on trying to break them.”

“Aesop?”

“He’s uh…one of Joker’s men. But he wasn’t always. He owned an art gallery near where I lived when I was twenty-three. He was…as good as he was capable of being to me.”

Bruce was silent for a long while. She kept her gaze trained out the window, only now processing that her ordeal was finally over.

When he veered off the freeway and onto a side street, Celine turned to him.

“I live in the other direction.”

“I’m not taking you home. For the time being, I want you to stay with me.”

She arched a brow.

“Your apartment will be crawling with reporters. Everyone wants to know why he released the other hostages but kept you. It’ll take some time for things to die down.”

She understood the logic of this. The last thing she wanted was to see her face plastered on every major newspaper. When the media was intrigued by someone, they went after them like bloodhounds. She appreciated Bruce’s gesture, though upon second thought, wondered if there wasn’t more to his kindness.

“Are you worried Joker is going to try kidnapping me again?”

Bruce’s hands tightened around the steering wheel.

“He won’t,” she insisted. “I was just a bit of fun. Beyond that, I’m worthless to him. He’s got much bigger fish to fry.”

When he didn’t answer immediately, she repeated his name.

“Crane,” he sounded out, “was concerned with Joker’s behavior toward you.”

“How do you mean?”

He glanced at her.

“Did he make any advances on you?”

She didn’t understand where his line of questioning was coming from.

“Yes, but nothing that was meant seriously. He was just trying to get under my skin. I tolerated it so he wouldn’t kill me.”

Bruce didn’t say anything else, which drew her ire.

“I endured what I had to to stay alive,” she reaffirmed. “If you or John for a second think there was something between us-.”

“I don’t,” he answered just as sharply. “I know you better than that. But from what Crane observed, he thinks Joker has taken a liking to you. That he didn’t do worse to you and allowed you to receive medical care…these are things that don’t sit well with me. Not because I’m ungrateful to see you alive and in one piece, but because I worry this is reflective of something more…troubling.”

“Like what?” She gestured with her hands, baffled by his words. “Bruce when I first woke up in the room you found me in, he had me fight him to the death with a knife. He nearly killed me. He _wanted_ to kill me.”

“And you stopped him?”

She grew quiet, peering straight ahead.

“I got the upperhand at one point, but he kept baiting me to kill him. I didn’t want to be provoked into it, so I uh…tickled him instead.”

“You…_tickled him_?”

She swallowed loud enough to hear it ringing in her ears. Even though she and Bruce were butting heads right now, she again was thankful she didn’t have to bulldoze her way through reporters and get hassled about her time in captivity. She could only imagine what sort of uproar she’d cause if she told the truth.

“Yeah,” she nearly whispered.

She could feel the heat from Bruce’s gaze, but refused to meet it.

“What happened after that?”

“He ah…managed to break free and get on top. Then he…tickled me back.”

Her eyes squeezed shut. Why was recounting these events embarrassing her so much? At the time, she barely gave her actions any thought. But now it was like confessing sins to a judge and jury.

_Definitely going to omit the kissing him part, _she thought meekly.

“And after that?”

“I passed out from a lack of oxygen I think.”

“And that’s all he did? Just tickle you?”

She looked down at her lap.

“He uh…may have dry humped me a little.”

The tension in the vehicle was suffocating.

In the three years she had known Bruce Wayne, they had never been at such odds before. He had been the only investor to take the concept for her app seriously and commend her for its necessity. It didn’t take much persuasion for him to hop on board and aid her with connections, namely coding and software experts who were a little more skilled than her.

They had always shared an easy, light-hearted friendship, taking to dining out a handful of times a month to catch up. Never anywhere luxurious, she wasn’t keen on fancy establishments where she needed to squeeze into tight and revealing dresses just to get gawked at because of who her friend was. Bars and diners were her scene, and she suspected Bruce appreciated this as it allowed him freedom from the playboy billionaire persona he so often had to maintain. He even admitted once that upon their initial meeting, she threw him off by treating him like a human being instead of his status and name. That alone won her his support.

Furthermore, late night calls and texts to each other throughout the week wasn’t uncommon either. Especially after she had put it together that he was Batman. He slept often throughout the day and though he did well to hide it when they met for a meal, she would note the stray scrape or bruise he hadn’t concealed well enough. Plus, the man was fit as a heavyweight boxer, but sometimes hobbled or needed to catch his breath for a moment. Unless the women he took home liked to beat the living shit out of him, she suspected there was something he wasn’t telling her.

Similarly, while Gotham was content with labeling him an extravagant, womanizing piggy bank on legs, he was a surprisingly empathetic person with a deep sense of welfare for others. His immediate investment into her cause was only but one examples of this.

They were dining on sushi in the Little Tokyo district of Gotham when she peeked up at him and stated, “You’re Batman, aren’t you?”

He had dropped his chopsticks and laughed nervously at her, but she pinned him in place with such an unrelenting stare that he had no choice but to awkwardly mumble “Yeah” a few seconds later.

Content with the answer, she’d went back to eating, mentioning nothing further of his real identity. But her texts to him after that day always inquired about his physical health, especially when the likes of Scarecrow and Joker were busy wreaking havoc.

“Did all of this happen before or after Crane tried to get you back?”

“Before,” she mumbled, squinting at nothing in particular as they entered a sparse, residential area. “I know it sounds bad, but Aesop told me it’s what he does. Tries to get into the minds of his victims. You better than anyone should know. That’s all it was, Bruce. He was looking for a way in and I wouldn’t give it to him.”

“That’s what worries me. Joker is not one to leave alone someone who can resist his influence. And knowing you as well as I do…”

When he didn’t finish this line of thought, she turned to him.

“Yes?”

He took his time composing a response.

“You can be just as unpredictable. It’s one of the things that draws me to you. You keep me on my toes…in a necessary way. Joker’s unpredictability isn’t as pure-intentioned as yours. It comes from a place of deep loathing for society and those a part of it. When I heard every hostage had been returned but you, I knew he would recognize in you the same thing in him. And Crane only confirmed my suspicions. You have his attention whether you wanted it or not.”

She soaked in his words, nibbling on her bottom lip.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I can read people pretty well and yeah…in an odd way we did get along with each other, but I just…I don’t see it. He’s a domestic terrorist bent on causing as much anarchy as possible. His philosophy on life is crystal clear. Mine is the polar opposite. If anything, he’s probably glad not to have my sentimental butt around anymore.”

Bruce didn’t look as convinced, but some of the tension gradually seeped out from him.

“You don’t see it,” he replied, glancing at her. “You’re so comfortable in your own skin that you sometimes don’t see how attractive others find it.”

“Speaking from experience?” she teased.

His lips briefly quirked up.

“I hear you Bruce, I do,” she followed up. “But I have more important things to focus on than whether Joker’s got a hard-on for me or not. For your peace of mind, I’ll get a weapon of some kind so I’m not an easy target just in case he does try something. But I’m not staying with you longer than a week. I have a new psychologist to find since Dr. Frtiz retired and Taj told me a week back that I may have to switch software programs to accommodate the growing user base. This experience has only reconfirmed that I need to live each day as if it’s my last. No one is going to get in the way of that. Least of all a clown.”

This time, Bruce didn’t hold back his smile.

“It’s good to have you back, Celine.”

“Good to be back, Bruce.”

Miles behind them and all hell was breaking loose.

Joker’s men were scurrying in a hundred different directions, attempting to avoid the spray of bullets from his gun. Six had already been fatally shot, three were tending to their wounds, and the remaining men worked on finding a decent enough hiding spot until their boss’s tirade was over.

Aesop was currently holed up inside the kitchen cabinet under the sink, watching through a crack in the door as Joker managed to shoot one of the newer recruits, clean through the skull.

“W_hyyyy_ do I pay _you_ dumb bastards anything at all?” he shouted, twirling around and aiming a shot at a man trembling behind a couch, just barely missing him. “I uh don’**_t _**ask for _much_. Keep the Bat away and make sure the hostage doesn’_t-a_…escape. So simple an invalid could do it. Maybe I oughta hire them instead of you useless shits.”

The man behind the couch scampered backwards but could do nothing as a bullet tore through his throat.

He sputtered out blood, clutching his neck weakly. Joker hurled the gun at him, the handle striking him square in the forehead. The man dropped dead a second later.

“Idiots,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “To those of you uh still alive ‘n kicking, this building is going bye-bye in ten. So either get your asses in the vans or get blown to smithereens. I could fucking care less.”

He stomped out of the room with a few unintelligible grunts. Morris was waiting for him outside in the driver’s seat of one of the vans. He swung open the passenger seat and hopped inside, slamming the door shut hard enough to startle the bomb constructor.

“Let’s fucking roll,” he growled.

Morris didn’t think twice.

The ride to their new hideout was a long one. Every now and again, Joker’s left leg would start bouncing erratically and Morris would catch half-coherent obscenities coming from under his breath as he glared out the window. He couldn’t be sure what pissed his boss off the most. The fact that they had to destroy what had been a lucrative place of operation or the fact that Batman managed to nab the hostage with relatively little effort.

“Crazy little bitch,” Joker murmured, pressing his cheek into the window and closing his eyes. “I’ll chain her to my fucking bed next time.”

Not a minute later and Joker was rocking back and forth, gasps of laughter flying out of him. Morris didn’t know what prompted it, only that he preferred it to his earlier mood.

“You gonna get the girl back?” he dared to ask when the laughter died down.

Joker threw a foot over his thigh, leaning back in the seat.

“_Eventually_,” he said. “Gotta let things play out. She’ll be trickier to catch a second time.”

Morris nodded.

“Seth told me,” he informed, “he trailed Scarecrow like you asked. He and the Batman met. Probably how he knew where she was.”

“I’ll deal with Crow later,” he decided. “Need to think of a suitable enough punish_ment_.”

“Use the girl to hurt him,” Morris offered. “He clearly’s got a thing for her if he’s willing to risk making you an enemy.”

Joker’s jaw tightened. What was it about her that had men in his line of work catering to her like moonstruck buffoons? She wasn’t anything to look twice at. Worse yet, she was a living, breathing personification of good. That people like Crow and Ace went out of their way to accommodate her incensed him most of all. They were villains. _Not_ good men. She shouldn’t have made it this far in life, much less having procured the allies she had.

Then again, here he was, brain running marathons around her. She had drawn him to her the minute their eyes met in the basement of the church. Though he brushed it off at the time, he remembered thinking there was something different about her. A form of self-awareness he seldom encountered. Their knife spar proved that she could roll with whatever he threw at her. It also proved he could still be surprised by people, which was a rarity in its own.

It felt, dare he say it…_refreshing_. To not know what she would say or do next. And though he loathed her unrelenting commitment to morality, remove this one trait and she would be no better than any other Gotham citizen claiming to be _good _and_ decent_. She practiced what she preached and begrudgingly, he had to commend her for it. She knew who she was and what her convictions were.

It would prove more challenging to compromise her mental state than initially thought, but he wasn’t even sure he wanted to anymore. She was a unique little rabbit who had been hopping under his nose all this time. Now that she was on his radar, she would never be able to evade detection again.

“Run, rabbit run,” he crooned softly, licking at his scars. “Dig that hole, forget the _sun_. And when at last the work is done. Don’t sit down, it’s time to dig another one.”

Another fit of giggles rocked through him. Morris peeked at him before returning his eyes to the road; wholly content not to know what was going on in his boss’s head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joker is probably a little OOC in this chapter because of his altering feelings regarding Celine. But honestly...home boy sees the world for what it is and seeks to upend societal norms. Finally having met someone so similar to him...I think he would think it's a waste to taint someone so strong. He might try, but it will only be halfhearted. He might just be looking for someone to understand him, who knows.


	5. Chapter 5

The week spent cooped up in Bruce’s penthouse was equal parts relaxing as it was irritating. Relaxing in that she was able to maintain a semblance of privacy as word got out Batman had nabbed her from the Joker’s clutches. She deliberately avoided watching the news or reading the paper. The media had a way of exploiting news under the guise of “investigative reporting”. Which meant they wouldn’t stop asking sensationalist questions or making misleading assumptions until the object of their pursuit either had some sort of emotional meltdown or their reputation was dragged through the mud. It genuinely sickened her. They weren’t looking for the truth, they were looking to make bank.

Bruce had been kind enough to pop by her apartment and grab her laptop, cell phone (she was overwhelmed with all the messages of relief for her safety), and a week’s worth of clothes. Their friendship wasn’t anything new to the media, so other than pestering him with a few invasive questions, they took it easy on him.

In the week spent with Bruce she was able to find a replacement for Dr. Fitz; Dr. Hanna Lockhart - a psychotherapist specializing in manic depression in young adults, as well as organize a video call with Taj (her head software programmer) regarding switching over to a program that could house her app’s booming user base.

Her app was called _Oz Ascending_, Oz shortened from Oizys, the Greek goddess of misery, depression, and grief. The ascension aspect to it alluded that no matter how deeply absent you felt from your existence, no matter how dark the thoughts or abysmal the self-worth, you may again find your way back to how the world looked when you’d been a fresh-faced child, eager and curios to experience this life to its full capacity.

Though it shouldn’t have considering it was Gotham, it came as a surprise how immediately people had taken to her app, both young and old, male and female. _Oz Ascending_ was free (and would remain so), affording the luxury of being listened to for those either embarrassed to seek mental health aid or unable to meet the expenses that came with seeking out help. And mental health services in Gotham were absurdly expensive.

Bruce had had the foresight to get her in contact with a lawyer that helped word the terms and conditions of the app. A lot of the users either actively struggled with suicidal thoughts or had plans laid out to go through with it. Being held liable for someone’s death would have devastated her and doused all hope for the haven the app could become. A bunch of clauses were added emphasizing that the mental health practitioners would listen and offer solutions but made no guarantee to cure. Similarly, a shortcut was installed in the app that allowed you to call the national suicide hotline number at the touch of a finger.

She had celebrated only recently the anniversary of launching the app and with a shoutout from magazine _Gotham Health & Mind_ citing her app a “refreshing breath of air for those – often the downtrodden and destitute - lacking the means to attain professional help”, _Oz Ascending_ was doing better than she could have ever imagined.

It all really stemmed from her own difficulties in her darkest moments. Tight on cash and too unmotivated to leave her home even if help had been available, she often wished she’d had someone understanding in the room with her who sought to pull her from a headspace she was unwilling to herself. One of the core symptoms of depression was the overwhelming feeling of isolation. Feeling like you had no one to reach out to, no one who cared to talk you down from the ledge. She would never forget how crippling that isolation felt and how it had polluted her ability to reach out. She vowed in whatever capacity, to spare others that same sense of hopelessness. Her app was a byproduct of that vow.

Four days in to her captivit-_ahem_ totally consensual stay with Bruce Wayne, she received a surprise visitor who nearly hugged all the air out of her lungs.

“Wes-can’t breathe-,” she’d stuttered out through a laugh.

Wesley released her with a blush, eyes glowing with unending gratitude.

“I was so afraid for you,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “We all were. That was a brave thing you did for me. Just know…if you ever need _anything_ at all…don’t hesitate to ask.”

He’d supplied her with his cell number and she returned the favor. She then asked if he wanted to stay for a bite to eat. Her company included either Bruce or Alfred, so Wesley was a welcome addition.

They delved into some Vietnamese takeout and plopped down on the sofa to watch something. A documentary on Madagascar’s native animals caught their attention, so they bunkered down and relaxed, taking to making an input every now and again whenever a fact caught their interest.

While on commercial, Wesley set down his takeout box and fiddled with his fingers. By a quick scan it was obvious he wanted to say something.

“Out with it, shrimp,” she teased after viewing a minute of his fidgeting.

“I get not wanting to be hounded by the media,” he stated, resting his clasped hands on a knee. “But…I’m just as curious as they are. Why did Joker keep you but let us go?”

She cocked her head, not really having given the question a serious examination. _Because he’s crazy_, she wanted to say.

She didn’t. The answer was tempting, but not the entire truth. 

“I was a challenge, I think,” she expressed, training her gaze out the window. “And he made it a point to mention how silly I was for having the morals I did. He wanted to see if he could corrupt them. Corrupt me.”

Wesley gulped. Though no longer a captive, it was clear Joker had left an impression on him.

“I’d have died before letting him do so,” she added. “Fear and influence are his greatest assets. Once that became clear, it was easy not to play the game. Well…_easier_. Nothing is really ever easy regarding him.”

He didn’t say anything else as the documentary resumed.

Before he left, they promised to meet up again later in the month at _Edenia_, a café and sandwich shop plopped right in the middle of a sprawling garden housing flowers and plants from around the world.

It was day five when the irritation began to set in. In her free time, she had a tendency to wander and explore the city. Be it art expos, vintage electronic stores, niche bars, eccentric museums, animals shelters, ethnic restaurants – you name it, she’d probably stepped foot inside some form of it. She was always cultivating her love of knowledge, gathering whatever information there was to be acquired in her brief stint on this planet. Just as well, such adventures had introduced her to a myriad of people, each one as interesting as the next. In particular, she’d been meaning to catch up with a close friend - Agatha - that ran a crystal and spirituality shop, as well as an improv group deemed The Cheekbone Factory who hosted improv nights four times a week at a theatre near her home.

To be stuck inside in an admittedly nice apartment had her feeling like a caged animal. You could only chat with Bruce or watch TV or scour the internet or read for so long. Pair this with having experienced something similar in her time with Joker and she was being hit with just a little bit of cabin fever.

The end of the week couldn’t have come fast enough, and with great timing. The media’s attention was drawn to one of two events. Firstly, a scandal that rocked Gotham’s City Council. An insider had been leaking the private spendings of public funds by three councilmen. Between frequenting high-end call girls, throwing coke and orgy parties, and renting out private jets, the story wrote itself. And both the media and public was weak in the knees when it came to a good sex scandal. 

Personally, Celine was disgusted. Not at the lecherous spendings. People were free to do whatever they pleased behind closed doors. No, what rubbed her wrong was that it was people who were supposed to serve the public and aid in diminishing Gotham’s crime rate and growing homeless population, that were debauching themselves so shamelessly. It was times like these where she got why Joker loathed the system in place. Seemingly no one was capable of holding them accountable. The people were too divided, too distracted, too apathetic. The media would scold and chastise those responsible, but that was the extent of their justice. A new scandal would come along, and all discretions and wrongdoings would be treated like a case of amnesia.

Speaking of the madman, the second story to distract Gotham’s attention involved the Clown Prince of Crime himself. Apparently, he’d ransacked an arm’s and ammunition’s facility and subsequently blasted the building off its foundation. While there weren’t any casualties, the idea of Joker now having possession of such an assortment of weaponry didn’t sit well with anyone other than those who sought what he offered.

Celine had bit at her thumbnail while watching the coverage. Bruce joined her on the sofa a few seconds later, suddenly seeming to have lost all appetite for his bowl of cereal.

“Maybe you should lay low for awhile,” she suggested. “I bet he’s just itching to use what he’s acquired on you. Give him time to sell some of it to the highest bidder.”

“He doesn’t care about accumulating wealth,” came his exhausted answer. “Which means he needs the money for something else. I let him get the money he needs, he’s one step closer to whatever he has in mind.”

“Catch 22,” she agreed. “Whatever you choose to do, please, be careful.”

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

Before Celine was to depart back home, Bruce took her on an expedition to the weapons room Lucius had constructed for him. It held every gadget at his disposal.

“Choose anything you want,” he said, eying her with a light smirk. “Something that would ideally put him down for good.”

She didn’t care for the intensity this was voiced with.

“How do you expect me to kill him when you’ve refused to on countless occasions? We’re cut from the same cloth, Bruce.”

He had the audacity to redden a little.

“I didn’t mean…I would never ask you to end someone’s life. It’s just that…if I can’t get to you…and he’s decided you’re expendable…it comes from a place of how much you mean to me,” he amended. “If he killed you I don’t know that I’d be able to stand by my own convictions.”

“You did after Rachel,” she said softly.

He took a long time to answer.

“I’m beginning to see…Joker can’t be contained. Not by me, not by law enforcement, not by Arkham. He’s like an infection too deep to cut out. And no matter what antibiotics you take, he’ll find a way to keep spreading. It’s a reoccurring thought I’ve been having of late. Nothing short of death has worked so far.”

“Hm,” she released, wandering around.

His admission astonished her, and then again didn’t. Joker appeared to be a force incapable of being contained. His countless breakouts and resurgence attested to this. She agreed from an objective perspective. Nothing short of death looked like it could stop his reign.

But to hear this come from Bruce…no, _Batman’s_ mouth. She didn’t know how to feel about it. She did want to give him a hug however. The Joker had done a number on him for him to be considering breaking the one rule he vowed not to.

So, she gave in, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders and resting her cheek against his chest. His arms circled her a moment later.

“Let me be your tether,” she mumbled against him. “So long as I don’t give in you don’t either. To him, our lives are a game. Believe it or not, we have the advantage. We have a reason for fighting. And that’s more powerful a force than anything he could throw at us.”

He sighed into her hair before placing a kiss on her forehead.

“You’re right.” He leaned back. “It’s…difficult. He’s taken so much from me. It’s tempting not to take something from him.”

She shook her head.

“He has nothing to take,” she said. “What we think we’re taking from him, we’re actually handing over. I’m afraid people like you and I…our paths were never meant to be easy. Life has decided to test us to the very extremes. But we were meant to persist, otherwise we wouldn’t have made it this far, sanity intact. Well, mostly anyway. I still wonder about you and your nocturnal bat brain.”

“Me too,” he murmured, offering her a sly grin. “Thank you, Celine. You always help me regain perspective. I don’t know if I’d still be Batman without you.”

They detached and Celine continued her perusal.

It was when her eyes landed on a blocky black gun with red trimming that she paused, tilting her head.

“Good choice,” Bruce commented a moment later beside her. “One of the lightest weighing taser guns you’ll ever hold. Fifty thousand volts, enough to knock any one on their ass, maybe out depending on the person’s body current. Five hundred firings per battery cartridge. Thirty feet maximum with a switch near the safety that allows the wires to retract from skin and back into the barrel.”

She picked it up and studied it, fingers sliding around the trigger. It weighed no more than a football. Her fingers gripped the weapon as she brought it up into a shooting position, left eye sliding shut. She aimed at nothing in particular, thumb flicking off the safety.

“Just point and shoot?” she mumbled, recalling the hunting classes her mother had enrolled her in when she was thirteen.

“And hope you don’t miss.”

She imagined the empty space to be the Joker, who in her mind was cackling so hard he had his eyes closed.

She pulled the trigger and the wires sailed forward, striking their target. Her thumb knocked the switch Bruce spoke of, to the right. In two seconds, the wires had retracted back into the barrel, ready for a second round.

“This’ll do,” she decided, bringing the taser down.

“I’ll get you a holster before you go.”

“I appreciate it Bruce.”

Miles away in a condemned apartment building in the edge of the Narrows, Joker was flipping open a laptop.

His boys had done well. After their brief struggle with security personnel, he now had enough weaponry to start a civil war. Which was an attractive thought. Gotham could use a little population control. May the sharpest shooter win.

And of course, the facility’s explosion had been simply _beautiful_ to witness. He’d taken to wiring these bombs personally, not trusting anyone that wasn’t him to not fuck it up. Morris had his value but attaining these weapons had been crucial for what he had in store. Everything needed to go without a hitch.

Now that he had some downtime, he opted on doing a little bit of research. He hadn’t forgotten about his little firecracker. Doc had been reading a variety of papers earlier in the week and the media was _desperate_ to interview Celine about her time with him. She apparently wasn’t at home, taking to hiding out he guessed until things died down. He figured she wouldn’t be the type to kiss and tell.

What tickled his humor the most about the media’s speculation was the gradually building theories they’d constructed without a single input from her. A personal favorite lying on Doc’s desk, from an infamously sensationalist paper titled _Gotham Inquirer_ read on the front page in big, black letters: **_Is App Founder Joker’s Secret Lover?_** Below was a photo of him in action, looking rather dashing if he said so himself, and beside his was a photo of Celine sitting at a desk, at work on something, smiling crookedly. He’d been so tickled he’d torn the page out and pocketed it, taking it out anytime he was in need of a good laugh.

He was just _itching_ for a reunion. But, first, he needed to do some homework.

Cracking his knuckles, he logged onto the search engine. Before hacking into more personal information, he figured he’d do a general search.

Typing in her name, he hit enter, leg bouncing in anticipation of what he’d find. The nine victims he’d chosen technically hadn’t actually been picked out by him. He’d told Gil, who had proved his unending loyalty time and time again, to choose the nicest, _kindest_ citizens Gotham had to offer. And he hadn’t disappointed.

The first page’s content cleared up a lot of information in a short amount of time.

His rabbit was well-known enough to have her own Wikipedia page, albeit brief. He made it a note to check later if he had his own. He’d love to hear what sort of notoriety he’d stirred up.

He learned she was born and grew up in a small oceanside town in Maine – _Calgary Cliff._ A mother was cited, but a father was not. Her presence in Gotham was by in large due to winning a full ride scholarship to the Gotham Institute of Technology. She failed to meet the academic standards required to hold on to the scholarship, and as a result, it was rescinded. She dropped out shortly after the end of her sophomore year, bunkering down in the city following the death of her mother.

The page instantly skipped down to her accolades.

At age twenty-three she published four essays to _The Gotham Journal of Philosophy _as a guest view. He followed the links to each individual paper, biting his lip. This didn’t come as a surprise in the slightest. When she’d mentioned Lester Heilig, he suspected her to be well-versed in a myriad of philosophy’s sub-genres.

Personally, Max Stirner was a favorite of his. He’d been a major proponent in anarcho-individualism. To him, concepts like law, right, morality, religion were artificial and not to be adhered to. The individual is its own creature and its own creator. Similarly, things like state, property, and the very notion of society were specters of the mind. Only through personal, brute will were these artifices enforced. Thus, power belonged to no inherent group or family name. Had Joker been born and raised as he had in a city like say London, his focus would have been on deconstructing the Royal Family piece by piece. After all, who had any right to deem one blood lineage more important than another?

He’d also never had the chance to discuss with anyone his favorite sub-genre of philosophy: nihilism. It fit him like his gloves did, warm and snug. He owed no allegiance, no commitment to any person or state. Fate did not play a role in the cumulation of your character. God was dead. The individual existed in a meaningless society, meaningless state, meaningless universe. The closest form of meaning one could attain was to destroy the institutions bent on keeping you in line. Only then could you be free. Or at least that was his takeaway.

Celine Harlow’s philosophies on life, after reading all four essays, was as opposite to his as you could get. And he’d have snorted at some of her influences if she didn’t write in such a convincing, humbling manner.

Her first two essays marinated in the realm of stoicism and how its adoption by modern leaders could benefit the community. _Meditations_ by Marcus Aurelius was sourced frequently.

She also admitted to frequently struggling to find a balance between emotional intellectualism and objective. A fine line existed between the two and through a tricky combination of skepticism and intuition, one could find themselves harmoniously stabilized between the two.

Her third essay was a love letter to Taoist philosophy and her application of it during riskier moments in her life. Though his nose crinkled as he read it, his eyes were glued to every word. This piece better explained how it was she was still alive in Gotham. She believed in an organic sort of order in the universe, to trust your gut when the moment came, that separation from one another is all in the mind, and the only way to Be is to surrender.

As a result, the six times someone had attempted to mug her, she asked if they needed a place to crash instead. All the reactions had been unanimous: bafflement. Three had taken her up on the offer, two had returned her cash to her after their stay. She re-emphasized the importance of being aware of the duality of man. Yin and yang. Good and evil existed in each person. It was a matter of perspective on which you chose to see in someone. A well-balanced individual focused on neither specifically. They took both into consideration in any given time.

He leaned back after finishing this read, scratching at his chin.

“Huh,” he said to himself.

She wrote with such persuasion it was difficult to counterargue her. And she wrote with such…_such_…

He didn’t want to say intelligence. She didn’t deserve that much credit. But it was obvious she took the time to truly examine herself and how she fit in in the grand scheme of things. That level of self-awareness…sorta…_turned him on_. He hadn’t realized until then that he was half hard.

His tongue shot out to lap at his scars. One hand picked up the box of twinkies he had “purchased” and grabbed one. His eyes returned to the screen, readying himself to finish up the last essay. The twinkie was thrown into his mouth and consumed in one greedy bite.

She began the essay by documenting a magic mushroom trip she had been on in which a reoccurring thought consumed her: Existence is Absurd. She would laugh each time she thought this, convinced of its truthfulness the longer it played on loop, comforted by its rationale…or rather lack of. This allowed her to nosedive into absurdism in modern society and how sometimes the need to understand why good and bad happened was better left unanswered so as to save yourself the headache. She gave an example with the suicide of Gunther Powell.

Joker recalled the event as if it was yesterday. He should have wagered a bet with someone. It was clear to him from the get go how it was going to end.

Gunther Powell had been a weather forecaster for Gotham’s highest rated evening news program. It had somehow been leaked that he partook in crossdressing and had been spotted leaving drag shows with groups of men. Though Gotham was a little more progressive than it used to be, when word of Powell’s extracurricular activities leaked, the media had a field day. They were utterly perplexed that such a famous figure could lead such a compromising lifestyle, taking to inviting armchair psychologists and “professional” analysts to speculate on his behavior. Powell continued his position as a forecaster, though Joker suspected it was so the studio couldn’t get sued for discrimination if they let him go.

For two months straight it had been the most covered story. Everyone seemed to have an opinion on it. When news hit that Powell had hung himself in his bedroom closet, no one took responsibility; instead, lamenting and mourning the death and deeming it an unavoidable tragedy. Those who once judged him, shed crocodile tears and wondered how and why it had happened.

In the essay, Celine called out the media’s role in snowballing the events leading to his demise. They had crucified a man’s private life on national television and then had the audacity to ask how this tragedy came to be. She went on to say how deeply touched by his death she’d been. Mourning it caused her to take a step back and inspect the cumulation of everything leading to it. The lack of self-awareness, the public’s obsession with others personal lives, the vigorous mania in which the media reported…she admitted to having laughed. And in laughing, his death had become easier to process.

Joker blinked and leaned back.

This one was probably his favorite out of all four. It wasn’t until reading it that he realized absurdism was an influence in his world view as well. How could it be they were so vastly different, and yet, the rare things they agreed about they might as well have been the same person?

His eyes dropped down to the rest of her accolades, but he was hesitant on learning more. He felt like he now knew her. Which was the point in doing research. But his knowledge of her almost felt…intimate. What was more intimate than a person’s inner private thoughts? And he enjoyed what she had to say at that. It’s not an experience he’d ever had before.

He snatched another twinkie and tossed it in the air, reclining his head back. The twinkie was airborne for mere seconds before dropping to its death in the clutches of Joker’s jaws.

_What the hell? _he thought lazily through his munching. _I’m committed to knowing her. Good to know this exists in that pretty little head of hers. Less chance of being taken off guard._

Satisfied with this logic, he resumed reading.

Her next work to get published was a short story to a magazine consisting of stories by local authors. Intrigued, he followed the link to it, switching the bouncing of his leg from right to left.

The story was titled _Dante_. It took only five minutes to finish reading it, but by the end, Joker was grinning from ear to ear. The story followed an eight-year-old boy named Denny whose dog Dante was snatched by “reapers”. From how she described these reapers, he deemed them to be demons. Denny follows the reapers down a hole in the ground and ends up navigating his way through hell, though he refers to it as “the bad place”. Denny encounters a handful of creatures and each time he does his love for Dante is tested. He passes each to the point that his body ends up glowing gold. And this light is enough to fend off the reapers and get his dog back.

The story was ludicrous and that she chose to tell it through the perspective of an eight-year old was telling. Grown adults lacked that fearlessness, that commitment to what they loved even when things got dicey. Children, generally at least, weren’t tarnished by the same cynicism, the same selfish self-preservation. That love in the end could save the day had him rolling his eyes, but what else did he expect from her? He’d been entertained nevertheless.

Her next piece of writing to get published was also her last. And she’d apparently co-written it with…was he reading that right?

_Dr. Jonathan Crane & Celine Harlow._

He was tempted to ignore the piece, still irritated with Crow for his involvement in Celine’s rescue. That they wrote something together bothered him more than he cared to admit to. Only for her benefit did he follow the link to a website for a magazine he’d never heard of – _Parapsychology Today_.

Their article had apparently been taken down. He couldn’t find any trace of it no matter how thoroughly he searched.

_Probably covering themselves after Crane got thrown in the loony bin._

He shrugged, scrolling down to her final accolade, which was also the reason Gil deemed her worthy of being taken. She was the founder and co-creator of the app _Oz Ascending. _He scanned the app’s history, freezing upon learning Bruce Wayne was her investor.

What did that pampered little shit know about mental illness? 

Cracking his neck, Joker returned to the first page once Celine’s Wikipedia page ended. The next few websites he clicked on were from entertainment magazines. There were countless photos of Bruce and Celine captured by paparazzi, walking together around Gotham City, getting a bite to eat in places Joker was surprised the billionaire would ever step foot into. Their bodies were close in each photo, but they never held hands or kissed. In one article, Bruce even clarified that they were only good friends.

It incensed Joker that Celine would associate with someone as airheaded as Wayne. She was far too good for the likes of that idiot. Far, _far_ too good. Which made him wonder if they weren’t trying to cover up a relationship than ran deeper than “only good friends”.

He couldn’t help but grit his teeth, snatching a knife out his coat pocket. His fingers twirled it around, envisioning Wayne’s face across the wall from his position. His lips peeled back and with a swift flick of the wrist, he released the blade, striking Wayne right between the eyes.

She deserved better company. Crow, Wayne…they couldn’t begin to comprehend her. Not as well as he could. He’d make sure she knew that when he saw her again.

Rolling back his shoulders Joker’s eyes went back to the screen.

Surprise surprise, Celine was generous. Four charities were the recipient of $5,000 from her, as evident by photos of her presenting the check to them. He noted in photos of her caught by the public, she never fully smiled. It always seemed like it wavered.

The charities she’d aided included one that helped abused dogs and cats recover and find good homes, one that funded Alzheimer’s treatment, one that helped with funeral costs to those affected by a family member’s suicide, and one that sought to pay the hospital bills of homeless and disabled persons.

Such a good, _good_ girl. Had he read all of this prior to meeting her, he’d never have thought her capable of what he’d witnessed in their time together. It made her _deliciously_ complex.

The rest of what he could find about her was primarily regarding either her app (reviews of it, its conception, recommendations of it) or Bruce Wayne (were they dating or weren’t they, the resources he gave her to make her app possible, were they dating or weren’t they). By the end of these entertainment and gossip articles he was half-ready to hunt these “journalists” down and smash their fingers to a pulp so they could never produce such mindless drivel again.

Before he turned to hacking to uncover more personal information, he stumbled upon a video of her from two years back, posted publicly on Facebook by he assumed to be a friend- Catherine Bronson. The post read: _Celine ate a Carolina Reaper pepper for the first time and I think found God? _

He rubbed his hands together before hitting play, grin in place.

_“So,” a pixie-cut raven-haired woman stated into the camera from what looked to be a backyard, “we know the Carolina Reaper has recently beat out the Ghost Pepper as the hottest pepper in the world. Don’t know the Scoville on it, only that when Dax tried it he nearly went comatose.”_

_The camera panned to Celine, who wore a crooked grin, holding the pepper in between her index finger and thumb. _

_“Comforting,” came her answer._

_“Hey you chose to try it.”_

_Celine shrugged. _

_“I have a high tolerance for hot.”_

_“Your funeral,” whoever held the camera, said._

_She smiled, threw them a thumbs up, and tossed the pepper into her mouth. For a few seconds she chewed with the same smile, wiping her fingers on her jeans._

_And then her eyes widened so fast they nearly evacuated her sockets._

_“Oh.”_

_Her smile vanished. _

_“OH.”_

_She raised both arms in the air and clasped her hands together. One knee jerked up in the air. She went through a series of hand combat movements including a one-two punch followed by an uppercut, then a series of blocks before aiming a swift kick through the air. She was, quite literally, battling her way through it._

_Catherine couldn’t stop laughing nor could the cameraman. _

_Celine clasped her hands behind her head, working on her breathing. The camera moved closer and zoomed into her face. Her eyes were glossy, tears pouring out of her. The camera zoomed back out. _

_“I-I feel,” she struggled to get out, elbows shaking. “My soul…it’s not in this dimension anymore. Fuck!”_

_“Where is it, Celine?” Catherine baited._

_“It’s-it’s that movie. With…with…Jason Isaacs. A-and…and Laurence Fishburn. And…” She inhaled wildly, shutting her eyes. “Sam Neil.”_

_“Event Horizon?” the cameraman guessed._

_“Yes!” Her eyes popped open with a new set of tears. “My soul traveled…traveled to the dimension Event Horizon did. Ah Jesus I can’t believe people take this consensually!”_

_She keeled over abruptly and dropped onto her knees, fingers gripping the blades of grass. The camera descended with her. Celine turned over so she now sat on the ground with her legs drawn up to her, palms rubbing over top her knees._

_She sniffled. Her cheeks glowed from the tears._

_“I…I feel like a broken faucet.”_

_“Did you want some water?” Catherine asked._

_“Heat’s already…seeped in,” she gasped, blinking so fast you could barely see her eyes. “Won’t do any good. Just uh…hahaha…gotta ride it out.”_

_Her bottom lip trembled. Sweat peppered her hairline. _

_“I ah-fuck-.”_

_She abruptly stretched her legs out and spread them a little, hands coming to rest on her tummy._

_“If I uh…focus the pain…on a certain part of my body…” She guzzled in air. “It’s ah…it’s manageable.”_

_Her eyes closed again._

_“Where are you focusing it?” Catherine questioned. _

_“My uh…my groin. Cos…cos then it ah…it sorta feels like…Satan is…eating you out. Which…isn’t so bad.”_

_The camera shook from how hard the person holding it was laughing._

_“I’m a dumbass,” she confessed. _

_“You didn’t need a pepper to prove that.”_

_She threw the camera a dirty look but resembled more a weepy child than anything._

_“Okay…okay,” she stammered. “I just…I just have to…pain effects certain ah…certain senses…more than others. This pepper…my sense of taste.”_

_Exhaling, her eyes shot somewhere off screen. She shakily worked on standing. _

_“I just…I need to…balance out the pain. If I…if I experience-fuck!-if I divert pain…to another sense…I can…this can become…manageable. I can focus…on that…instead.”_

_Catherine threw the camera a perplexed look._

_As soon as Celine had regained her footing, she stumbled off screen. Both Catherine and the camera followed her. _

_She shot inside the backdoor of a house, steering her way to the kitchen. _

_Immediately, she reached up into the cupboards and pulled out two tall glasses. _

_“What’re you-?” Catherine started to say._

_Celine set the other glass down, and with neckbreaking speed, smashed the glass from her hand into her skull. _

_Catherine gasped, hands flying to her mouth._

_“Holy shit!” the cameraman exclaimed._

_Celine shook her head as shards of the glass trickled onto the counter. _

_“Almost,” she mumbled frantically._

_She grabbed the second glass and struck her temple with it, glass shattering on impact. Again, she shook her head, swaying slightly._

_For a long moment she didn’t move, fingers gripping the counter._

_Finally, she turned to the camera and released a worn smile._

_“Much better.”_

_The tears continued to flow, but she seemed a little more composed than previously._

_Sniffling, she wiped at her nose._

_“It’s um…it’s a very.” She gestured with her hand, searching for a word. “Spiritual experience.”_

The video ended shortly after.

Joker was cackling his guts out, tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes. He leaned back in the chair, clutching his gut, whooping and hollering like a rabid hyena. His weight ended up propelling the chair backwards, and him with it.

He only laughed harder as the chair deposited him on the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if that was a bit of a snooze fest, but I'm a slut for philosophy and I feel like Joker definitely comes from a place where he considers his own and who influences his. Celine too, as it turns out. 
> 
> Thank ya for the niche support, y'all! I'm slowly creating a vibe for how this story is gonna go and what's going to happen and I can't wait to write the rest.


	6. Chapter 6

It took a couple of weeks before life returned to a semblance of normalcy for Celine. The City Council scandal was being milked for all it was worth, so when Bruce dropped her off at home – a former firehouse station that’d been remodeled to house eight apartments, lodged between an alleyway and a Mediterranean gyro shop – she was relieved to find there were zero reporters lingering about.

Just to be cautious, any time during those two weeks she chose to step out and wander the city she did so tucked beneath a black, non-descript baseball cap, a pair of brown, rectangular sunglasses with a horned rim, and a monochromatic, dark blue sweatshirt. She resembled the average Gotham citizen and was relieved to be barely spared a second glance.

While at Bruce’s she’d started a new essay that drew most of her attention. It was in its rough draft stage. She was ideally hoping to submit it to an academic journal at GIT. Despite her shameful exit from the school, her success with her app reignited a relationship between her and the Dean – a stern, no nonsense woman named Gwyneth Hass. She would occasionally ask Celine to come be a guest speaker during entrepreneur-based events, paying handsomely as a result. It’s how a bulk of her rent and extra-curricular expenses were paid.

They were in the tail end of June and Gotham was simmering beneath a sweltering heat wave. This allowed Celine to take advantage of her friendship with a motel owner a couple of blocks from her house – Arash. She would begin her mornings writing, spend noon grabbing a bite to eat, pop by Arash’s motel during the hottest time of the day, take a dip, clear her head, then return home to write, and finish off the evening with a late meal while watching whatever caught her interest on TV.

At some point within these two weeks she had begun to suspect she was being watched. Her shoulders would suddenly tense up, as if someone was running their fingernails along them, and her eyes would discretely peruse her environment. She never caught anyone overtly staring, but her hand would tighten around the taser gun in her holster each time it happened until the feeling dispersed.

Bruce had taken to texting her daily just to make sure she was doing okay. She appreciated the gesture though it felt much like having an overprotective babysitter. Sometimes she would turn off her phone just to have some peace.

Speaking of, she’d texted John’s burner phone asking if he’d be willing to meet. She wanted to express in person her gratitude for his help. For doing the right thing even if it meant pissing off Joker. She had also gotten him a gift- one of the original editions of _Myth & Meaning_ by anthropologist Claude Levi-Strauss, autographed by him personally. Prior to her introduction of the book to his arsenal, John had been law-abidingly skeptical when it came to mythology. If it could not be proven it held no credibility. Levi-Strauss’s approach seemed to have broadened his views to the necessities of myths as a means of understanding ourselves and our place in the world.

She was worried slightly when he never texted back. She guessed he was laying low what with a target being painted on his back both by Joker and Batman.

Her next order of business was to see Agatha again. Unfortunately, she was out of town visiting family members and wouldn’t be back until the end of June. She couldn’t wait to see the woman. The encounter with Joker had dislodged her spiritually somewhat. She felt off balance, like a tsunami had struck her and she was having difficulty regaining her footing.

On top of being owner of her store – _House of Intuition_ – Agatha also did appointment-based tarot card readings in the back of her shop. Due to their tight acquaintance, her readings were free, though she made it a point to make other purchases in the store to show her appreciation. The first and only thing she really wanted to know was if she and Joker would cross paths again. With the feeling of being watched only growing stronger daily, she needed to be prepared.

Nearly three weeks after her rescue and Celine was arriving at the community theatre near her home. It was just past seven in the evening and the first round of improv games were set to begin. The group that hosted these – The Cheekbone Factory – were comprised of eleven non-classically trained actors, some of whom did stand-up comedy on the side. The general public was invited to participate, and tonight the turn out was healthy. She counted at least thirty-seven people.

It was the first time she’d set foot in the theatre since her captivity and was immediately swarmed by the main members of the group as well as a few regulars.

“You’re looking decent for someone that was held hostage by that madman,” Sam, one of the members of the group, observed.

She accepted a series of hugs. For just under a year she’d been acquainted with the group and at this point they felt like extended family.

“Getting sliced and diced is the equivalent of beauty sleep, as it turns out.”

Their eyes widened.

She lifted her sleeve to display her healing cut. It wouldn’t be disappearing anytime soon. She’d have this reminder for most her life that she tangoed with the Joker and lived to tell about it.

“Sexy,” one of the regulars, Stephanie noted, head tilted. “The _Gotham Inquirer _said he kept you as a hostage because secretly you’re his lover.”

She rolled her eyes as some of them chuckled.

“Such bull. They’re lucky I don’t take things personally enough to sue them for libel. I doubt they could survive another lawsuit.”

“You underestimate the stupidity of Gotham’s citizens,” Anton, a Swedish export, added. “They’ll continue to support misinformation so long as it’s spicy.”

The word spicy temporarily made Celine’s insides clench. Ever since the Carolina Reaper incident she hadn’t been able to hear the word without physically lurching.

“There was nothing spicy in the least about what happened,” she reassured, deliberately choosing not to linger on her more…_provocative_ encounters with him. “But if you want spicy, I’ll deliver it. Yes, God yes! He _is_ my lover and I am _his_.” She emitted a breathy sigh, bringing her hands together and sliding them beneath her cheek. “Secretly he’s a big ole softy. He’s also bipolar. When he commits crimes, it’s his alter ego. Oh, and also…he has a nine-inch cock. It’s why he struts around like he owns Gotham. Man is packing heat in more ways than one.”

Everyone but The Cheekbone Factory members stared at her as if she were telling the truth. It made her bite down on the inside of her cheeks.

_Gullible. Nearly as bad as the guys at Inquirer._

“You’re pretty damn weird,” Anton finally spoke up. “It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Pfft…let’s start this damn thing before I call him to come bomb this place. With you _all_ in it.”

They made their way to the center stage beneath a beaming spotlight. Behind them loomed five hundred seats, including a balcony. Due to the lighting, any occupants in the balcony area were immersed in darkness. The feeling of being watched returned, but Celine wouldn’t allow it to affect her. She was among friends, heavily surrounded. Even if she was being watched they would never get the chance to get close enough to her to try something.

They all formed one massive circle and got to work on some exercises that nearly had Celine in tears two hours later. Anton and Sam had done a skit in which Anton was interviewing Sam’s character for a news segment and Sam delved into a story in which a gang of eleven owls grabbed his father by the shoulders and flew away with him, never to be seen again. He bursted into heaving sobs by the end of it, manically crying “Papaw, papaw, I still don’ look for you in the night skies!”

Anton upped the ante by revealing it was he who had commanded the owls to take his Papaw because Sam’s Papaw was also his and he figured Sam had had enough time with him.

What made Celine nearly keel over from laughter was a skit involving herself and Stephanie. They were two women who’d not seen each other since high school graduation and were getting coffee at an outside café.

Celine launched into the story of how she’d dropped out of college to become an actress, but all she could get were minor adult film rolls. In particular she recalled being credited as _Chinese Delivery Worker_ in a film called Mass Orgy 6: The Pussy Strikes Back. She explained she started off the film, delivering Chinese food to an extravagant mansion a la Bruce Wayne’s. She liked to get into character for the role so asked the director what specifically she was delivering to the orgy. You know, for accuracy purposes.

The director had only responded with “Seventeen eggrolls.” No rice, no chicken, no stir fry. Seventeen eggrolls. Their purpose made her wonder which hole they were meant to be inserted into.

She struggled to get that line out with a straight face. Around her she could hear palm-covered snickers.

Stephanie asked her how many were in attendance for the orgy.

“Well, it’s sorta like the Human Centipede films,” she recalled. “They’re always trying to upstage the previous film. This time I think it was…a hundred and seven.”

She went on to say that no one answered the door when she knocked, so she tossed the delivery box down beneath a nearby window, jumped on top, and peeked in.

“Now lemme tell ya something,” she shook her head vehemently, eyes alight. “When you’re witnessin’ a hundred and seven people having sex with each other, your gaze sorta ping pongs around. You don’t know what to take in, there’s so much happening at once. It was Circus du Soleil up in the motherfucker. Acrobatics and contortionists and shit. And ya feel…ya feel…I was the only one hired who wasn’t participating. Ya feel left out, truthfully. Am I not attractive enough? Did I piss off the director? Maybe I can…wiggle my way in when no one’s paying attention and get in on the action. It was a blow to the Ego, I won’t lie.”

Stephanie was notoriously talented at maintaining a straight face, but even she could see her body lightly quiver from the effort to hold in her laughter.

“What about you?” she asked. “What’ve you been up to?”

“Well, I’m sure yah _noo-tice_ the black eye.” She’d settled on a brash Sheffield accent, briefly pointing at her socket. “Got in a bit of a tiff with me mate Shereen. Police got ‘nvolved, we were both required to attend an-gah management classes.”

Celine mimicked surprise.

“What on Earth happened?”

“Well,” she twirled her hand, “’er Mum and me Da’ ‘ooked up. Then Da cheated on ‘er. Shereen was a bit miffed ‘n one evenin’ we we’re ‘avin’ a night out at the poob, snortin’ some powdered sugar in the bathroom, ‘n she was gabbin’ like she does when she gets fooked up. ‘Ccusin’ my Da of ruinin’ her Mum’s life. ‘Nd I tried t’a be nice ‘bout it, but she was yammerin’ and cursin’ and lookin’ to pick a fight. Finally, she said somethin’ that really set me off. ‘N I was wearin’ a skirt without any knickers, ‘avin’ just started me period. So, I reach in between me legs, yank out me tampon like I’m fookin’ rippin’ out Excalibur, and toss it at ‘er. Hit her right in her gabbin’ mouth, blood sprayin’ ‘er like a fookin’ ‘ose.”

Celine tried to discretely hide her mouth behind her hand, not trusting herself to submit to the fit of giggles pressing against the back of her throat. God, she missed this.

“’Nd then she sorta screamed like a banshee ‘n flung ‘erself at me, poppin’ me square in the eye with ‘er ring fingah. Took five grown men t’a pry her off meh. Couldn’t help it tho. She was pushin’ me over the fookin’ line. Girl’s gotta make a point.”

Her bottom lip was wobbling. Stephanie’s eyes were urging her to break character despite wearing a stoic frown.

“I’d say you made it,” she answered when she’d composed herself. “I’d have killed ya ‘n dumped your body in the Thames.”

“It’da been worth it.”

Someone finally succumbed to a fit of giggles, but it came from the balcony above. She looked up, peering into the darkness, but quite soon everyone else had joined in as Stephanie beamed with pride.

_Where do I know that voice from?_

It wasn’t Joker’s. When she’d tickled him before, his laughter resembled a rabid hyena. No, this was much subtler, smoother, belly producing.

As their group slowly began to disperse, Celine lingered back, taking her time saying goodbye as everyone trickled out. Nights like these made her so grateful to have the freedom she did. She would forever be indebted to John and Bruce. The latter of which she’d been trying endlessly to get to come to one of these meetings. He took himself much too seriously, needing an excuse to loosen up.

When the last of the Cheekbone members had left, she stood still at the center of the stage, staring up at the balcony.

“I know you’re there,” she stated, her sole presence making her voice echo off the walls. “I know you’ve been watching me. And I indirectly know Batman. Either show yourself or risk pissing me off. You. Don’t. Want. To. Piss. Me. _Off_.”

She said this with more confidence than she felt. That she was being observed and not the observer was never a feeling she was fully comfortable with experiencing. Perhaps it was her animal instincts kicking in? Recognizing herself to be in a moment of uncertainty, of sightlessness to what gazed at her; it was a deep-seeded response to make herself into more of a threat than she was. To protect her hide, throw off her pursuer.

It seemed like forever before she heard someone stand and approach the stairway leading down. By the time their steps reached the ground floor, she had her taser gun extended, safety disengaged.

Beneath the spotlight walked out Aesop, wearing a sheepish grin and throwing her a wave.

Her brows knitted together. Slowly, she lowered the weapon.

“What are you doing here?”

He stopped a healthy distance away, eyes flicking down to her weapon.

“Uh…I was in the neighborhood?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Pretty fucking convenient neighborhood.”

He shrugged, wiping at the back of his neck.

“That was really good,” he deflected, gesturing toward the stage. “You guys should be performing for the masses instead of these artificial pop bullshit acts Gotham is eating up.”

She mirrored his shrug.

“Our humor isn’t for everyone.” She cocked her head. “You’ve been watching me.”

He seemed to debate whether to argue it or not. A grave sigh exited him.

“Not by choice,” he admitted. “Um…Joker appointed me the task of following you.”

Upon noticing her widened eyes, he elaborated.

“Nothing invasive like breaking into your apartment. Long-distance recon. Where you go. What you do. Who you interact with.”

She frowned.

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you. I’ve been wondering myself. He’s been…weird lately. Well, _weirder_. Less prone to anger, which is weird for him. He chose me I think because he knows I’d never slip up and hurt you. Though, he also told me to keep my dick inside my pants otherwise he’ll cut it off and feed it to me.”

She snorted, lips briefly twitching up at the image of Joker dangling Aesop’s sliced pecker over his mouth.

“What I’m doing constitutes as stalking, I know,” he said. “I don’t feel good about it. But I’d also like to stay alive. If this is what I have to do, so be it.”

She re-holstered her taser gun and ran a hand through her hair.

“Do you think he’s planning on kidnapping me again?”

“I can’t say.”

“Do you think he’s planning on hurting me?”

“I hope not.”

“Find out. Please?”

At his hesitance, Celine approached him, pausing only when she was an arm’s distance to him.

“Please, Aesop. I get why you couldn’t help me when I was a hostage. You would have signed your death warrant. But not knowing what he has planned…it’s the closest to fear I’m capable of feeling. He’s not like you or I. His reasoning does not come from a place of any form of logic. I need to be prepared.”

His nod was tentative.

“Take a stand.” She reached out and softly grasped his shoulder. “You do not have to be this man anymore. This…coward Joker’s molded. You have a choice. I’m here to remind you you’re still human. You can still find your way back.”

His smile wavered. He set his palm overtop her hand.

“You make it all sound so easy.”

She tilted her head.

“It’s easier than you think.”

Huffing, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone.

“Pop your digits in,” he said. “I’ll see what I can find out and text you when I have the chance.”

She accepted the phone with a grateful smile. Upon opening the main screen, her mouth dropped open.

“You _filmed_ us?”

He laughed a little.

“Well…I texted Joker that you had this tonight and he wanted me to. But like I said earlier, you guys were really funny. Your friend Stephanie I think you guys called her? She single at all?”

“I’m afraid to say yes.”

“Was just wondering.”

He was terrible at playing coy.

“I have a friend who created an app earlier this year,” she said. “I’m going to download it onto your phone. It’s coded in such a way that it actually moonlights as a house and architecture app. Something subtle that doesn’t catch the eye; neutral so either gender would have it. It’s when you go through a series of links that you get to your app’s contacts. It’s meant to conceal who you’re talking with, in case you’re in a domestic violence situation where your partner frequently checks who you’ve been texting with. Consider it a fail safe just in case Joker gets suspicious and searches your phone.”

“Good thinking. Thank you.” He was silent as she went to the app store. “I uh…I like your app by the way. Had the chance to download it after I had some downtime at the new headquarters. I wish I would have had something like it when I was younger.”

“Me too,” she answered, glancing up at him. “Exactly why I created it.”

After the app was downloaded, she went in and entered her number.

“My messages will be sent to you as software update reminders.”

He nodded, accepting back his phone.

“I still…have to follow you,” he said awkwardly. “Just to maintain credibility.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “There’s worse people to be stalked by. Your boss hovers at the top of that list.”

She suddenly frowned, biting her lower lip.

“Have you by chance heard anything about Jonathan Crane? He’s not answered any of my texts. Has Joker-?”

She let the question linger.

“Not that I’m aware of. Crane’s been dead silent. Either he’s deep underground for the time being or he’s working on his serum.”

“Hmm…thank you. I…I know I’m asking a lot out of you. Betraying your allegiance, lying, snooping. I know the risk you run should Joker find out. And it only makes me all the more appreciative. Thank you, Aesop.”

She offered him a hug to which he accepted, his chin coming to rest on her head. It wasn’t until the physical embrace did he realize he hadn’t been touched in _years_. He forgot how good it felt. How soothing.

“Be careful,” she murmured into his chest.

“You too,” was his soft answer back.

***

Two days passed of silence on Aesop’s end. She could still detect she was being watched, but the same apprehension from before was nowhere to be found. Instead, it felt like she had a guardian angel off in the distance, keeping tabs on her.

She’d made the poor decision to tell Bruce about her encounter with Aesop. In the time she’d known him she’d never seen his eye twitch in such a violent manner. She was glad she chose a crowded pizzeria at the height of rush hour. The patrons were the only things keeping him from having a more…_dramatic_ response.

“This isn’t good, Celine.”

“Oh, did you think I was telling you this information because I’m thrilled?” she whispered back with a stormy look. “I know it’s not good. But I handled it as well as I could’ve. I have Aesop on my side.”

“What makes you think you can even trust him?”

“The same way I know I can trust you. There’s good in him. I’m slowly bringing it out.”

He wearily massaged his face, shaking his head.

“Come stay with me.”

“I can handle myself,” she assured. “I have protection and I have you as a protecter.”

“You’d be protected much better where I can keep an eye on you.”

She sighed, no longer hungry for their deep dish.

“I know Rachel’s death hit you hard.” He flinched at the acknowledgement. “And losing Harvey to Arkham jaded you. I know you’re holding on to me so tight because you have a history of losing people to him. Friends, lovers, colleagues. I’m blessed that you hold me in such high regards, but I’m not afraid of him. Uneasy, unnerved, yes, but not afraid. And fear can make you act stupidly. I don’t intend to let him take me a second time around. He responds eagerly to those who aren’t afraid even if he’ll admit otherwise. A lack of fear is probably why he didn’t kill me. Why he likes having you as a playmate so much. I can handle myself I promise.”

His shoulders slumped in resignation. He knew she was right but wasn’t keen on admitting it.

“Let me meet this Aesop,” he said, not sounding happy about it. “If we’re putting your life in his hands, I need to make sure they won’t strangle you when you’re least expecting.”

“Is my intuition not enough for you?”

She was somewhat offended.

“You know I’m stubborn,” was his defense, smirking slightly.

She grumbled back a response he chose not to ask her to repeat.

Regaining a bit of her appetite – clashing with Bruce always seemed to work up one – she chewed her slice of pizza thoughtfully.

“I know you don’t like me talking about him and our uh…association,” she started out meekly, glancing at him from beneath her lashes. “But have you gotten word as to John’s whereabouts?”

She almost regretted asking. It was no secret how Bruce felt about the Scarecrow. She suspected it was less that he was a villain bent on terrorizing Gotham but more that he’d successfully made Bruce truly afraid down to his core via his serum. Few were capable of such a task.

She’d tried to explain to him numerous times the nature of her relationship with him. He never approved, but he had the decency to listen all the way through, keeping his displeasure to a minimum.

She also suspected this most recent encounter with him – the divulgement of her location so he could save her – had ever so slightly lessened his detest of him.

“He’s gone MIA and it makes me nervous,” he admitted. “He can’t go a week without plotting something.”

She nodded, unhappy with the news. If Joker had somehow gotten his hands on him she might snap and kill him out of sorrow. She liked to think she’d show restraint, mercy, but you never truly knew until you were in the moment how you would respond to the death of a loved one.

After they had gotten takeout boxes Bruce lead her outside to his car. He got in and she soon after.

“Just…be careful,” he reiterated, starting the engine. “I know I sound like a broken record but you’re one of the few people I have left. One of the few I can be myself around. If anything should happen don’t hesitate to call me.”

She reached out her hand and offered it to him. He grasped it with a deep sigh.

“I will.”

He released her before pulling onto the street.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “I should check your building for apartment vacancies. If you won’t come to me, I’ll come to you. We’ll be building buddies.”

“One, you better be joking. And two, don’t ever say “building buddies” ever again.”

His deep chuckle produced a reluctant smile from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There aren't many comments for this story but that's okay because the few of you that drop something off are so kind and thoughtful and encouraging and I appreciate it more than you know.  
Sorry my sense of 'umor is so fucked :'D


	7. Chapter 7

After lightly arguing with Bruce over who would get the takeout pizza, she conceded the victory by sticking out her tongue at him, a gesture that proved not very well-thoughtout as Bruce attempted to snatch it with his fingers a moment later. Stubborn didn’t even begin to cover it.

She received a text from an unknown number via her house and architecture app just as she unlocked her front door.

** _He doesn’t like that you’re friends with Bruce Wayne. Gets all twitchy and growly when I tell him you two are hanging out._ **

** _-A_ **

Cocking her head, Celine brought the phone to her chin, unsure how to respond.

** _Why would he even care? _ **

Her phone dinged a moment later.

** _I have no idea. Just…be careful. It gets him really worked up. I’d hate for him to take it out on you or him._ **

** _-A_ **

** _Thanks for the heads up. Happen to find anything out yet?_ **

She wandered to her mini flat screen, flicking it on for background noise. Having written most of the morning and mid-afternoon, she was ready to unwind a little bit. It was a bad month for her pot dealer to be imprisoned. Gotham was _terribly_ behind on the times.

** _He’s gone currently. Left an hour ago, don’t know where. I’m trying to pick the lock to his bedroom. Not going so well. _ **

** _-A _ **

** _Please be careful and cover your tracks._ **

** _Will do._ **

** _-A_ **

She set her phone on the couch armrest. Twilight was descending onto Gotham and Celine was momentarily drawn to the scene outside her living room. She had her back to her bedroom door which was slightly cracked open.

“You uh…have **_quite_** the array of vibrators.”

Her spine stiffened instantly. One hand pawed as subtly as it could for the taser gun. Slowly, she turned to him, eyes first, followed by her body.

He was leaning smugly against her bedroom entrance, arms crossed, clad in his suit but missing his coat. To her horror he lifted one of her rather…_ahem_…sizable ones and eyed it curiously.

“Hm…I wonder how’d this _compare_ in size to me? What _ah_-was it you said? **_Nine_** inches?”

She could barely breathe. A blush stained her cheeks so swiftly she temporarily experienced a heat flash.

_He knows. He knows about Aesop in me._

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said as evenly as possible.

“Mm…I was shown-uh…your little _ge**t**_ together. Must say toots, I’m ah…extremely flattered.” He ran the hand not holding her vibrator, through his hair. “The bipolar part however…was frankly ah a little teeny _tiny_ rude.”

She couldn’t form a single coherent thought. Never in her wildest dreams would she think Joker would break into her vibrator collection. And God she’d certainly not meant for him to see that video.

_He doesn’t appear to know…of Aesop’s newfound allegiance. Otherwise, he’d be dead._

“Mm…” He tossed the vibrator behind him, landing somewhere on the ground with a thump. “What’s wrong bunny, Joker _got_ your tongue?”

He giggled at his own joke.

It was when he took his first step toward her that she remembered how to move her limbs. She whipped out the taser gun, pointed it at him, was able to savor the momentary look of surprise on his face, before pulling the trigger.

The tips of the prods struck him in the meaty flesh of his shoulder. His body shook like a marionette doll, dropping to the floor as one hand grabbed at the wires. She quickly flicked the switch allowing the wires to rapidly return to her gun.

He was panting heavily, arms shaking from the strain of supporting him.

She didn’t think twice. She shot him again, this one sinking in somewhere near his collarbone. His whole body jerked erratically before his arms collapsed from the weight of supporting him.

Not even five seconds later and he was passed out on the hardwood floors.

She was startled out of her trance by a _ding!_ on her phone.

Refusing to loosen an inch on her gun, she peeked at the message.

** _You’re not going to like this. I haven’t found much, but he has a blueprint layout of your apartment building. Found it in the trash._ **

** _-A_ **

Her thumb hovered over the keyboard, unsure how to reply.

** _He’s here. _ **

The response was instant.

** _Are you okay??? _ **

** _-A_ **

She released a deep breath, thumb on the gun flicking the switch to make the wires recoil.

** _Yeah…um…he got into my vibrator collection and I shot him with my taser gun._ **

_That’s certainly a sentence I never thought I’d say, _she thought wryly.

** _Are you going to call Batman?_ **

** _-A_ **

It was a good question. She should. She’d promised as much to Bruce. He’d kill her if she kept it a secret from him that Joker had broken in.

And yet…

The longer he stayed here the longer Aesop had to snoop. That was one benefit. And she hated to admit it, but her curiosity was killing her regarding what his endgame was. He’d broken into her apartment and went through her vibrator stash. He’d had her trailed for _weeks_. He didn’t try hurting her despite having the advantage of knowing he was there, and she didn’t.

She longed to interrogate him. Understand where he was coming from. _Then_ deliver him to Batman.

** _I’m going to handcuff him. Give you more time to search. Try to get answers myself. I’ll send you a text when I release him to Batman. _ **

** _Be careful. Handcuffs don’t keep him bound for long. He’s a master escapist. _ **

** _-A_ **

** _I’ll be sure to wrap them around extra snug. _ **

She tossed her phone onto a couch cushion and reholstered her taser gun.

_He’s going to be pissed when he wakes up. Aesop is right. I have to make sure they’re tight. Maybe use two pairs._

She was hesitant in approaching him to get to her bedroom. Even unconscious, he still carried a threatening aura.

Tip toeing past him she assessed the damage in her room. Her bed looked laid in, but not by her. Her blankets and pillows were scattered differently than how she last left them. All five of her dresser drawers had been ripped out.

She ignored the mess for the time being and walked to her closet. Inside an antique, oak-barrel chest she’d gotten as a gift from her mother when she still lived at home were a pair of fuzzy, red handcuffs and hot pink ones. The first ever vibrator she’d purchased from Lover’s Lane was around the holidays. Which meant every customer was a recipient to two extra pairs (one for him, one for her) because…tis the season to tie up your loved ones for being naughty and _not_ nice!

She grabbed the cuffs and made her way back into the living room, relieved to still see him passed out.

The way her apartment worked was an exposed brick living room melting into a semi-open kitchen that had an island to sit at. One half bath right by her front door and then her bedroom opposite the kitchen with its own full bath inside. What was unique about her apartment was that the landlord responsible for the renovation of the firehouse elected not to take out the pole the firemen used. Thus, it sat right near her windows just kitty corner from the television.

Bruce had teased her once that she should hire a fireman stripper to put it to good use. She was half-tempted to at times.

Moving Joker’s body was not…easy. The man’s muscles were deceiving, weighing him down as she slung two arms beneath his arm pits and tried to move backwards.

He stirred a little as she did this, which only hastened her tugs.

By the grace of God she managed to slide him all the way to the fireman pole, the hardwoods aiding in her effort. She eyed the pole with a half grin. Around Christmas she liked to string white and light blue Christmas lights around it for an extra pinch of festivity. She wondered what Joker would look like tied to it by her lights.

_That is dangerous territory we are definitely NOT straying into. _

She dropped down on a knee and worked on propelling his torso against the pole. A slumbering groan escaped him. She lifted his arms, slung the pink handcuffs around the pole, and cuffed his wrists. Tight. She then took the red ones, slung them around the pole, and cuffed him just as tightly so the two cuffs formed a crisscross. She’d seen it on a police drama before and prayed it wouldn’t fail her.

She backed away, suddenly feeling all trepidation desert her.

Here was the most dangerous man in Gotham, slung back against a pole in her living room, secured by red and pink fuzzy handcuffs, stunned into unconsciousness. It was equal parts cute as it was hilarious.

She _couldn’t_ help it. Grabbing her phone, she brought it up to Joker, making sure to get his whole body in frame. She snapped a couple of photos, one of him long-distance and one of his cuffed wrists.

_I shouldn’t. It’s cruel._

She tilted her head.

_He’s had me stalked and filmed. _

Before she knew it, her thumb had sent the two photos to Aesop with the message

** _Does he not look adorable?!_ **

She was surprised she’d used that word but didn’t linger too long on why. It’s not like she was lying.

** _OH MY GOD. HE’S GOING TO KILL U._ **

** _:’D _ **

** _-A_ **

** _He can try. But that won’t destroy the fact that I got him into them. And that these photos exist. We could probably blackmail him?_ **

** _If you live long enough to, that’s not a bad idea._ **

** _-A_ **

She pocketed her phone and went to go sit down on the couch. Her body lingered over the cushion furthest from him but decided at the last minute to go to the one closest. He would pick up on that…that he’d rattled her…that she wanted to maintain a safe distance. If she needed him to lower his guard she needed to behave as if she didn’t have a murderous anarchist in her living room.

To help with this, she turned on _Kitchen Nightmares_. The show never failed to make her laugh and Gordon Ramsey was the husband of her daydreams.

The episode wasn’t even ten minutes in when Gordon learned the servers don’t make tips, but hourly. She mimicked his outrage, flipping the owner off.

“This…_amuses_ you?”

She hadn’t noticed him wake up. Turning to him with a smile, she tucked her legs under her.

“What…this show or you handcuffed to a pole?”

He tried to tug himself free but wasn’t successful. One tongue dabbed up all the saliva that'd slobbered out in his sleep.

“If ah…if ya wanted to chain me up so _bad_ly ya should have just asked.”

He wriggled his eyebrows at her.

Undeterred by his flirtatiousness, she leaned toward him.

“I took a few photos while you were passed out. Tempting not to wanna share them with the press. So very, _very_ tempting.”

He barked out a laugh at that.

“And uh deepen the rumors that you ‘nd I are in cah_oots_? I’m ah…starting to think ya wrote those articles yourself.”

She snorted, shaking her head.

“And I’m starting to think you _want_ them to be true.”

He released a low whistle, banging his foot a few times on her floor.

“Mm…you _are_ in a feisty mood. Wish ah…you’d have shown more of this in our time together.”

“I have the advantage.”

His reply was a promise.

“For _now_.”

Her smile dropped at that. Her attention returned to the screen.

“You’re having someone follow me, aren’t you?”

She could hear the smile in his voice.

“May-_be_.”

“Why?”

“Why _not_?”

She looked at him. He was wearing a cocky grin, biting at his lower lip. It was clear she’d be pulling teeth to make him act serious. Unfortunately, it seemed like the only way to pull out that seriousness was to piss him off. Not something she looked forward to doing.

She tuned back into the show, content momentarily to ignore him. If he wasn’t going to answer her questions, she wasn’t going to engage him.

And that seemed to be exactly what set him off.

Her attention was hyper focused on the show as Gordon completely destroyed the “soggy as anything” blue ribbon burger, criticizing the combination of seasonings.

Joker tried to get back her attention by sing-songing her name. When this didn’t work, he began to sing, badly and off key, Stacy’s Mom, except replacing Stacy with Celine. This one got to her a little bit. She had to put a hand over her mouth to prevent an accidental smile.

When she continued to ignore him even through a commercial, taking to scrolling through her phone, his voice had lost its playfulness.

“You uh…plan on keeping me here _all_ night? Surprised Batman _hasn’t_ been called yet.”

She continued to tune him out.

“**CELINE**!”

His voice was black with rage.

Still, she ignored him.

“I am not a-_ah_ patient ma-.”

“Why are you having me followed?” she tried again, offering him a quick scan.

“Because…I _want_ to.”

“Why?”

His eye twitched.

“_Because_.”

“You’re not being released from that pole until you tell me. So, if this is how you’re choosing to respond, I’d get comfy. You have a long night ahead of you.”

He growled at her. Quite literally. Like an outraged puppy.

It was meant to be a threat, but she ended up smiling instead, wishing she could have gotten it on video.

_Kitchen Nightmares_ was back and this time Gordon was ready to put the executive chef wife and owner husband in their place. She paused it briefly to run to her room and retrieve her blanket. Before she exited, she grabbed a quilt.

Upon returning she tossed the blanket on the couch for her and approached Joker’s seething form.

His brows shot down in confusion as she knelt in front of him and wrapped the quilt around the pole and then his body.

“Not a big fan of when it gets stuffy in here,” she explained, tucking it around him like a clown burrito. “So, I always keep the AC running at its highest setting. Just uh in case you were cold.”

Truthfully her own action confused her. And it confused the man wrapped in the quilt.

She abruptly stood and walked back to her seat, slinging her blanket around her form.

Joker was oddly quiet, which was a nice change. She could feel her cheek tingle anytime he stared at her. Her eyes remained firmly on the show.

The wife was absolutely losing it during the dinner service, causing Gordon to shake his head in disbelief. And then the husband threatened Gordon, which caused her to say out loud, “Stay the hell back _beeyotch_, or else I’ll come for yo ass.”

The episode left on a cliffhanger. Would Gordon throw down with these guys? She really hoped so.

“This amuses you?”

She debated ignoring him, but he asked it this time with much more seriousness.

“It does,” she answered. “I love reality TV. Along with WWE it’s something I’m willing to suspend my disbelief for because I end up entertained more than anything else. We’re all just…animals watching animals. I’ve learned a lot about people watching these shows, even the scripted ones.”

He was studying her with a cock of the head. She was temporarily reeled in by his gaze.

“Kitchen Nightmares for example,” she went on. “It shows the depth and strength of denial. How being deeply removed from your existence can cause it to pass by, unlived, unexperienced. Some people…they die strangers to themselves.”

Her eyes returned to the show.

The couple clearly were not fans of Mr. Ramsay and the feeling was mutual. She wondered how the next day sit-down would go. They looked like they couldn’t be bothered to even stand in the same room.

“I have to pee.”

“Congratulations,” she said without sparing him a glance.

“I will pee on your floor.”

“Do it,” she challenged. “I’ve cleaned up urine before. And my floors are hardwood, so it won’t be a big deal. Plus, you’d be sitting in a puddle of your own piss. That would amuse me very much.”

She caught him pouting at her, stomping one of his feet.

“You’re being mean.”

“You broke into my apartment with the intention of doing God knows what. I think I can spare being a little mean to you.”

A smirk swept over his lips.

“It uh…it may have involved using what was in ah…your _first_ drawer.”

She sighed, rubbing the flush out of her cheeks.

“You really haven’t gotten laid in a long time, have you?”

“I always welcome volunteers.”

“Volunteers or hostages?”

His smirk deepened.

“Afraid you’ll like it?”

“Afraid _you_ will?”

He laughed loudly at the response, shaking his head.

“This is fun!” he exclaimed.

“Why are you having me followed?”

“Because I ah want to see what my _little_ hostage has been up t-a since we last parted. Or uh you _de_parted from a five-story window.”

“I wouldn’t have had to if you would have just returned me with the others.”

He hummed under his breath.

“I’m **_glad_** I didn’t.”

He said this so softly she wasn’t sure if she heard him correctly.

“Ya have a fifth in your upper kitchen cabinet. Unopened. Thought ah…you’d have quit considering your…**_past_**.”

Of course, he’d have snooped around her place. The question remained: why?

“I bought that fifth when I was twenty-four. It was the day I became committed to staying sober. I have it up there as a test of will. So many days I’ll come home and be tempted to crack it open. It’s been seven years and I haven’t. I’m proud of myself for how far I’ve come.”

Joker glanced toward the kitchen.

“That uh…why ya flunked outta college?”

Her brows shot together at this.

“Read your Wikipedia,” he answered.

“Of course you did,” she mumbled.

How much research had he done on her? What all did he know? Why did he want to know it?

“It was a dark time in my life,” she explained. “I wasn’t what I am now. I was weak-willed and easily persuaded. I lacked the motivation to do anything other than get fucked up.”

“What ah…what woke ya up?”

She turned to him.

“You really want to know?”

“Duh. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

“My mom had me when she was young. Raised me by herself with the help of family and close friends. She wanted me to have a better life than how hers turned out. She was so, so excited when I got the full ride to GIT.”

She glanced down at her feet. She was surprised to feel the sting of tears lurking in her sockets.

“She contracted a rare form of leukemia my freshman year at GIT. I hadn’t realized how badly she’d deteriorated in such a short time frame. I was also lying to her about my grades. Lying to her about how deeply depressed I was. Didn’t come home to see her as often as I should have. She’d always been able to read me so well and I was scared she’d see how far I’d fallen from the potential I had. See me and feel disappointed. She uh…passed just after my sophomore year. At the time I was so depressed for flunking out that I didn’t answer any phone calls or anybody at the door. I didn’t feel like I existed. Like I was a part of this planet. And…I ended up missing her funeral. Saying goodbye properly.”

The tears came and she let them, wrapping her arms tighter around herself.

“Feel it, feel it, feel it,” she whispered to herself, rocking back and forth. “It’s okay. _Feel it_. You loved, you’re alive.”

She laughed a little to herself. She wasn’t truly alone. During a tarot reading shortly after she and Agatha had become acquainted, it was revealed her mother had become part of the entourage of spirit guides committed to guiding her on the journey that was this life. She felt it most often in moments where darkness crept in. Her strength a force to combat what once had kept her dragged down, blind, absent.

Sniffling, she wiped her cheeks.

“The other wake up call…was uh…a best friend of mine from home who went to GIT with me. Her name was Kathy. We uh…both were struggling with some stuff and had been drinking buddies in high school. We used to ditch college classes and hit up the bar. Not study for exams in lieu of attending parties. She got into heroin…badly. Lost fifty pounds in a month. I…I should have been such a better friend to her. Helped pull us out of the spiral our lives were descending down. There uh…there was a party in this fancy hotel in Gotham’s business district. Her dealer invited us, he was a pharmacist that supplied to a lot of college kids. The party was an excuse to expand his business as he worked on paying back his medical school bills. I truthfully don’t remember anything past midnight. But sometime throughout the evening she’d climbed to the roof of the building and jumped. It ah…haunted me for a long time to imagine how lonely she was. No one there to talk her down, to convince her it was worth living. It took me a long time to forgive myself for that one.”

Joker was lapping at his cheeks, gaze piercing her.

“And uh…what makes ya think it wasn’t your fault?”

Her head snapped to him so fast she gave herself whiplash. She didn’t answer immediately, gauging him. The hint of a smile was resting at the corner of his lips.

She burst into laughter, producing a confused frown from him.

“Oh…_oh_ I was waiting for it,” she said with a shake of the head. “Sneaky bastard. Just hungry for a way to use all that against me. You think I would have told you any of that if I thought either event was my fault? I’ve struggled with depression nearly all my life. Its symptoms can include withdrawal, low self-esteem, lack of motivation, suicidal thoughts, self-mutilation... Do you really think someone bearing all those symptoms is in a state of mind to care for others? To be present? To talk someone else down from the ledge when they’re struggling not to dive over themselves?”

He blinked at her.

"You're so eager to learn everything there is to know about me," she continued. "Let me fill you in on something crucial. I've been broken many times, usually by my own hand. And it's always been me that put myself back together. No one breaks me _but_ me. No one fixes me _but_ me. There is no room for anybody else's input. Who are you? A stranger with no regard for anyone else but himself. Someone who thrives on being unpredictable yet has a crippling need to control things. Here's what I think- I think you've lacked power for so long that the only way for you to feel powerful is to be in control. And that's so deliberating and _so_ sad. You will never rise to your full potential."

He watched her blankly, not breathing.

“I am autonomous, I have met myself deeply and found the courage to forgive myself for that I could not change when I lacked the strength. Who are you? _Who are you?_ Someone that has forsaken themselves from ever experiencing love and happiness and freedom. And unlike me, that is your fault and your fault alone. And I pity that you have to live with that knowledge every day and night. I _pity you_ Joker.”

In the blink of an eye he jerked his entire body toward her, tugging wildly on the handcuffs. His teeth were bared, anger turning his eyes a molten black.

She barely moved an inch, watching him thrash, knocking loose his quilt.

Sighing, she leaned back, content to ignore his struggles and dive back into the program.

Oh dang. It looked like Ramsay had given in for the first time in the show’s history. He refused to help them.

_God that Amy’s eyes are fucking intense. I’d be scared to meet her alone in an alleyway. She could give Joker a run for his money._

He was still thrashing, but apparently finally realized it was all in vain.

“If you’re quite done throwing your temper tantrum, I’ll grab us something to eat.”

He was panting heavily, glaring at her from above one arm, strands of green nearly blocking out his depthless stare.

“I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to make us. You might really like it.”

“I’ll fucking gut you from abdomen to collar.”

She whistled in reply.

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

His glare lessened ever so slightly when she failed to respond to his threats.

“You uh don’t believe me.”

He lapped at his cheeks.

“You don’t strike me as someone who puts in a lot of work just for a small payout. You’ve had me followed, you researched me, you snuck into my apartment for a reason. I doubt it’s just to slice me open so…anticlimactically. So I’ll ask you again…for what purpose are you having me followed?”

“BECAUSE I FUCKING WANT TO!”

“Why?” she asked back calmly.

“Sometimes,” he stressed, “there _isn’t_ a why. There just _is_ the reason. You’re gonna have to fucking deal with that cos I’m not answering that god damn question. If you ask it again I will make good on my promise to slice you open.”

From the way he stared at her she got the impression he believed his own words.

_There is always a why. He hasn’t examined it. Because he can’t or because he won’t? Whatever the reasoning, it’s clear he’s sensitive about it._

She sighed and nodded.

“Fine. Do you want something to eat? You’ve lost weight since I last saw you. I could feel your ribs.”

He pushed himself up back in a sitting position.

“I’ve just threatened to pour open your insides and you uh…offer me _dinner_?”

She shrugged.

“Just rolling with it. No point in being afraid, it’ll get me nowhere and irritate you. I could use one of my vibrators on you instead?”

When he cackled it sounded reluctant. Like he’d been committed to basking in the murderous headspace he’d worked himself into.

“I’m not ah answering your question. So…you should just uh…_let me go_.”

“Tomorrow,” she decided. “I think Gotham could use a break from your terror for one night.”

_Am I really doing this? Housing him overnight, when he could very well escape, or worse, murder me? _

She could tell Joker’s thoughts were of a similar mindset.

“Why aren’t you calling **Bat**man?” he spat.

“Do you want me to?”

He crossed his legs and sighed.

“Your friends were right about you. You are one _weird_ fucking girl…_like me_.”

“You’re a girl too?”

She examined him closer.

“You were holding back on me as my hostage. I’d have ah killed ya the first night if you were this mouthy.”

“Knowing when to shut up is an important skill to harness.”

“This is you harnessing it?”

She couldn’t hold back her smile.

“You’re just as mouthy as I am.” She stood. “Now, you’ve kinda worked me up into a state where I don’t feel like slaving away for you. So, takeout it is. What will it be?”

“I uh…wouldn’t mind eating out what’s between **_your_** legs.”

Just like that her cheeks were back to glowing red.

_How does he do that? Go from batshit crazy to laying on compliments that’d make a nun desert her covenant?_

“This food.” She gestured down at her groin. “Is too expensive for you. Second choice.”

“Mmm…too expensive?” he bit his lip and giggled. “And what about your ass? Or your neck? Or that delectable little mouth of yours? That one ya let me have access too for free.”

“Indian it is,” she decided, spinning around to the sound of his laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Celine is playing with fire, let's hope she don't get scorched.


	8. Chapter 8

Celine didn’t trust Joker not to pester her with more innuendos, so, ordered from the kitchen for him over the phone. She was personally a sucker for a pork-stuffed samosa, chicken tikka masala, and some naan bread to seal the deal. Unsure how familiar Joker was with Indian food, she ordered him some chicken curry and naan bread. The joint she got deliveries from were always generous with their portion sizes, so she was more than content to share some of her food with him if he took to it.

“Your order will come to $31.68. Give us about twenty-five minutes.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.”

Setting her phone down on the counter; Celine was hesitant to return to the living room. Over the course of an hour he’d gone through a rollercoaster of emotions and she didn’t know which one to expect next. Or rather, it was his flirtatiousness she dreaded. Dreaded because it affected her much more than she’d expected it to. Her cheeks disobeyed her, her chest grew tight, she actually engaged him, and sometimes, it felt like someone had released a basket of butterflies inside her tummy.

It was as it had been when she was his captive. Violent Joker, she could handle. Irritated Joker, she could handle. Absurd Joker who said odd things to make her laugh, she could handle.

But his flirting affected her so much more profoundly than she anticipated. And she didn’t quite understand why. He was the complete antithesis of the sort of man she would go for. Psychotic. Apathetic. Opportunistic. Manipulative. Homicidal. Vain. He had his softer moments every now and again, but overall, it was bedlam he pled allegiance to, and she never forgot that he could snap at any moment and make good on all his threats to seriously harm her.

_And why on Earth did I give him a quilt? Who cares if he gets cold?_

Just as quickly as this thought came, it was counterargued.

_It comes from a place of inherent well-being for all human life forms. No matter who. And he’s…vulnerable, even if he’ll never admit to it. It’s good hospitality._

She sighed and exited the kitchen, wishing not for the first time that she wasn’t so intuitively kind and tolerant. It was probably….no, _most-likely_ going to get her killed one of these days.

Joker’s eyes had been shut – she suspected he’d been listening to what he could catch of her conversation – but upon her arrival, popped back open, settling on her.

“I hope you like chicken curry,” she said, resuming her spot on the couch. “And naan bread. You can also have some of my samosa and tikka masala.”

He didn’t answer, gaze continuing to pierce hers.

She coughed before returning her attention to the screen. _Kitchen Nightmares_ had given way for a documentary on John Wayne Gacy Jr. She instantly found the remote and threw on the guide.

_No need to give him ideas._

“You chose a taser gun.”

“I did.”

“Hmm…_telling_.”

She couldn’t hold back her curiosity, turning to him.

“How so?”

“You feel safer if there’s distance between us. You don’t trust yourself close to me with a knife. Ya like the impersonality of it ‘cos that’s how ya view our…relationship. No gun ‘cos we both know ya can’t take a human life. _Shame_. But it’s what makes playing with you ‘n Batsy so _much_ fun.”

He seemed gleeful at piecing this together.

She considered his assessment.

“I guess you’re right,” she admitted, brows furrowing. “You use a knife. Which _is_ personal. And gives you the chance to savor a person’s reactions right down to their final breath.”

“Ding-ding-ding!” His eyes gleamed. “If I want them dead nice ‘n quick I’ll use a gun. But I _refrain_…most of the time. Not _nearly_ as fun.”

“How many people have you killed?” she asked.

He shrugged, cracking his neck once to the left and then to the right.

“Lost count. Probably enough to populate a small town.”

_He is truly evil. There is nothing redeeming about someone like him. I can’t afford to forget this._

“Aww, none of that frownin’ little bunny. You’re much more _beeeau-tiful_ when ya smile.”

“Difficult to smile when I know how much destruction and misery you’re responsible for.”

“It isn’t for me.”

She chose not to comment on this.

Her eyes re-examined him. He was in an observing sort of mood it seemed. She couldn’t help but return the favor.

“The last two times we’ve been in each other’s presence,” she noted, tilting her head. “You haven’t worn your coat or gloves. Aren’t they staples of your…persona?”

His lips wobbled at this. Like he was privy to something she wasn’t.

“Why do _you_ think I haven’t?” he asked, lapping at his scars.

“Not wearing the coat I kind of get. It’s the middle of summer. The gloves…I _don’t_. You wouldn’t dare leave prints to trace back to you. Why risk it with me?”

“Mmm…,” He reclined his head against the pole. “Didja ever think maybe I just wanna feel as _much_ of you as possible? _Hm_?”

“Yeah okay,” she brushed off, “like I’d _ever_ let you get that close.”

“The night is still young,” he answered, unperturbed. “And you’ve been _sooo_ doting. Keeping me warm, giving me a meal, keeping me entertained…if I didn’t know any better I’d almost think _you_ had a crush on _me_.”

He blinked coyishly at her.

“Keep dreaming,” she mumbled.

“I plan on i**_t_**_._”

_Delivery cannot come fast enough._

As she scrolled through the guide listings, Joker picked up on her commitment to being serious. He sighed and began humming a tune he’d invented, under his breath. When he abruptly stopped, Celine glanced at him.

“I uh may or may not have skimmed your notebook on your desk,” he said. “You’re working on something new. Couldn’t _tell_ from the outline. What brand of wisdom are ya planning t’a grace Gotham with now?”

She arched a brow.

“You really wanna know?”

He shook his head.

“Why are ya so surprised I do? Might not agree with all your published works, but I appreciate a uh…_esoteric_ mind when I read one. Don’t nearly come across enough of ‘em.”

“You read my essays?”

She was gob smacked. And strangely flattered.

“Stop asking stupid questions. It doesn’t suit you.”

She nodded, figuring there’d be no harm. She’d not had a chance to bounce her most recent draft off anyone. Considering the subject matter, she was intrigued to ask Joker. It might offer her a perspective she hadn’t considered.

“It’s running title is “The Nature of Shame”. I basically examine the pros and cons of shame as an emotion. Whether it’s more useful or useless.”

“And uh…what’s the takeaway?”

She leaned toward him, setting her elbow on the couch arm.

“I was torn initially but have been gravitating recently toward useful.”

“Mmm…_respectfully_ disagree.”

“How so?” she asked.

“Shame is nothing more than an inhibitor. A social construct to keep people in line. People like…_me_. You think I’d be who I was today if I let that emotion rule me?”

“Knowing you, I see why would think that. From the perspective of every person who has suffered from your lack of it, the answer isn’t the same.” She shifted in her spot. “There are cons no doubt, though it’s all about context. If a church says it is shameful to be gay or to be anything other than a child-bearing woman, I would say that is a con. These institutions are denying people who are unable to choose who they were born as. When viewed through the lens of oppressing persons for harmless attributes and ideas, it is harmful and I agree, an inhibitor. To a further extent an enforcer of archaic, societal expectations.”

“Society is a disease that needs to be eradicated,” he affirmed. “If you agree with me why _uh_ would you think shame is useful?”

“Because it keeps people like you from acting on their more nefarious urges. The man who thinks daily of doing violence unto others but doesn’t for fear of being shamed by their community. The man intent on committing suicide but doesn’t for fear of being shamed by friends or family or a creator. The man plotting a terrorist threat but doesn’t for fear of what would await them in the afterlife or how their actions would impact loved ones. Shame keeps a lot of people from making this world worse than what it is.”

He snorted.

“People are free to do whatever they please. It is their inherent right the moment they are born on this festering planet.”

She contemplated him.

“Okay…how about the man who thinks daily of touching children? Of raping them? Buying one from a sex trafficker to keep them locked up in their basement? Is shame not useful to keep them from acting out on their urges?”

“Most who’ve thought about hurting children end up doing so anyway.”

“Not necessarily,” she disagreed lightly. “There are anonymous rehabilitation centers all across the country – Gotham included – that tailors to individuals with an inclination to pedophilia. They seek to counsel and rehabilitate these individuals before they can act. If you look at the national numbers, the success rate of these facilities are overwhelmingly positive. Even our State passed legislature last year to increase funding to these institutes.”

She could tell he was searching for a way to argue with her. His eyes narrowed, left leg bouncing.

“Unless you’re down with pedophilia,” she followed up. “Which I hope you’re not. You’re awful, but I hope you’re not _that_ awful.”

He grumbled something under his breath, briefly jerking his head.

“What was that?”

“_No_,” he bit out. “I don’**_t _**support it. Those who participate should and _need_ to be castrated.”

“So…you agree. In this case, shame is a useful deterrent.”

He eyed her with barely-concealed contempt.

“_Yes_.”

It looked like it physically pained him to agree with her. But she was pleased nevertheless.

Her victory was short-lived as a knock sounded on her door.

She stood and walked to the entryway, slipping out two twenties from her back-jean pocket.

Their order was contained to 4 plastic bags. She gave the man the two twenties and told him to keep the rest as a tip.

Joker was trying to peek over her island at her as she set everything down in the kitchen and worked on plating it all. Generally, a lot of Indian dishes you ate with your hands, but seeing as she’d be feeding Joker, the last thing she needed was for her fingers to be too close to his mouth. He might chomp them clean off. 

When she had plated a suffice amount for them both – she gave him a little bit of everything to try – she returned to the living room. Once near his seated form, she dropped to sit in front of him.

“Spread your legs,” she asked.

“Mm…I thought you’d _never_ ask.”

She shook her head.

“Keep that up and you’ll end up with a black eye.”

“_Kinky_.”

He threw her a wink. She tried to appear unamused, but couldn’t quite succeed, the corner of her lip quirking up.

He spread his legs so she could set his portion of food between them. She scooted a little closer so her arm could reach his mouth.

“We’ve got the curry here.” She pointed with his fork. “Naan here. Samosa here. And masala here. Their curry is…a little hotter than average. Just as a forewarning.”

“I’m surprised you would order something so…_spicy_ considering your prior experience with a certain **_pep_**per.”

She jolted at the word ‘spicy’ before looking up at him.

“How?”

“How ya think? Told ya. I did my research.”

She blushed for a whole different reason. Catherine had promised to take that video down. Apparently, that hadn’t been the case.

“You’d react the way I did too if you tried it,” she defended. “Felt like hellfire on your tongue. And the heat destroyed my ability to form saliva.”

He smirked.

“I ah-I admit…how ya chose to deal with the pain. _Smart_.”

She shrugged but didn’t say anything, internally grateful for the praise. Catherine and Jonas had thought she was crazy for smashing the glasses over her head, but it really did divert the pain to another sense, making it easier to deal with the heat.

“How about-_ah_…scoop some of that curry onto the naan bread?”

She hesitated. Go figure he would ask for the one thing that required her to handfeed him. By a quick glance she could tell he knew exactly what he was doing.

“If you bite, I’ll bite back,” she warned.

“Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

_Cheeky._

She did as he requested and slowly lifted the curry-filled bread to his mouth, lingering just a few inches away from his jaws.

He leaned forward and took a healthy bite. A moan followed soon after.

“I take it you haven’t eaten lately?”

He continued chewing, answering only when he’d swallowed.

“Food isn’t uh…a main necessity in my line of work. I usually get too busy to eat. Or I’m trying to stay under the radar and can’t get around to it.”

She frowned at this.

“You need to maintain your strength. No wonder you’re so much skinnier.”

“Worried for lil’ ole me?” He blinked at her bashfully. “How _sweet_.”

He gestured for the remaining bite. She brought it toward him, unable to pull away quick enough from his mouth wrapping around the bread as well as her thumb and index finger. His tongue scooped the food in while his lips sucked in her fingers noisily.

She retracted them before they could meet teeth and wiped them on her jeans.

“Scrumptious,” he stated in between bites.

She picked off the pork samosa off her own plate and bit into it, taste buds humming at the flavor.

The next few minutes were spent balancing between eating her own food and forking over Joker his. He seemed to genuinely enjoy each sample of his plate, licking and smacking his lips loudly after each completed bite. She got why he never dined out. Scars aside, people wouldn’t be able to keep their eyes off his vocal eating.

“You uh…you do this for all the people ya keep captive?”

“Oh yes,” she answered seriously. “You’re my forty-seventh in fact. Though the least well-behaved one of all.”

“Where’s the fun in behaving?”

She filled up the last of the curry from his plate atop the naan bread and extended it to him.

He surprised her by wrapping his mouth around the entire piece, his tongue circling in between her fingers and sucking at them. The entire time he maintained eye contact.

She practically had to jerk her fingers free. Lesson learned. No more hand-based foods.

He took his time chewing, closing his eyes. A bit of curry had dripped from the corner of his mouth, trickling its way down.

As he swallowed the last of it, she leaned forward and positioned her knees outside each side of his thighs. Her body rose to keep balance on her kneecaps while her napkin patiently dabbed up the curry, careful to avoid his scars.

No sooner than she was finished Joker swung his legs around her, calves encircling her back. He jerked her down toward him.

Her gasp was short-lived. His mouth crashed into hers, tongue immediately slipping out and into her open lips.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders to maintain balance. She tried to jerk her lower body back, but his legs were like steel, keeping her shoved against him as he hungrily ravished her mouth, the taste of curry thick on his tongue.

He tilted his mouth, the puffy tissue of his scars scraping against the softness of her skin. His tongue sunk in deeper, seeking out hers as hers attempted to dart away from his.

“Mphf.”

Joker groaned into her mouth, tugging at his bound wrists. His legs pulled her even further into his hold. He was relentless in his pursuit and only when he’d properly subdued her own, stroking it in triumph, did he finally drop his legs from her and spread them back apart, nipping at her bottom lip before pulling away.

She scurried backwards as he released a shit-eating grin, cackling at her and the red paint he’d managed to smear her mouth with.

“Why?” was all she said, wiping at her lips.

“Had to ah thank the hostess somehow,” he answered, licking his lips. “Gotta tell ya…miles better than the Indian. You uh…planning on serving dessert next?”

She eyed him warily.

“A thank you would have sufficed.”

“No, no, _no, no, no_, it _really_ wouldn’t have.”

Another important lesson. Never settle herself between his legs.

“I’m signing you up for a dating website,” she said, snatching his plate and hers. “You don’t get a say in it.”

As she stalked away, he called after her.

“What’s the point? You and I are a match made in heaven!”

“Heaven?” she called back. “Not fucking likely. Your destination is going to be a lot toastier than mine.”

His giggles filled up her apartment. She set their plates and utensils in the sink, running some water over them. She’d get to washing them clean tomorrow.

“So, uh…what’s on the agenda for tonight?” he asked when she returned.

She stopped at the center of the room and crossed her arms, staring at him. He blinked back, grin unwavering.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

He gestured with a hand.

“Ask away.”

“Are you responsible for John’s disappearance?”

“Have to ah…be a _little_ more specific. Know a lot of John’s.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose.

“My John,” she reiterated. “Jonathan Crane.”

“Hmm…” He looked up at the ceiling. “Jonathan Crane, Jonathan Crane…doesn’t ring a bell.”

She stiffened up.

“If I find out you laid a finger on him, pacifist or not, I’m coming for you.”

His grin was instantly wiped off, only for a sneer to take its place.

“I have nothing to do with _Johnny_ boys’ disappearance, but if I did rest assured, I’d send ya his body parts one by one until there was _nothing_ left to send.”

She watched him simmer, wrists renewing their attempt to get free. Her relief was overwhelming, though she didn’t let on to this, not wishing to amplify his anger.

“He _doesn’t_ deserve you,” he growled, glaring at her. “None of them do.”

“And who does?”

“**_Me_**.”

She froze at the admission.

“You’re joking.”

“I almost _always_ am. But _not_ about this.”

She was tempted to back away from his intense stare, the brown of his irises having darkened to a near-black. Surely, he didn’t believe that?

But he never once let up his pin-pointed gaze. And behind his eyes loomed conviction. Yes. Yes, he did believe it.

She exhaled slowly.

“Respectfully, I disagree,” she repeated his earlier words.

“Disagree all you want, doesn’t make it any less true.”

_I gotta get him back to a calmer state. He might actually break through the cuffs at this rate._

“We’ll agree to disagree,” she settled for, returning to the couch and grabbing her blanket to wrap around herself. “Until then, lets watch something.”

This wasn’t good enough it appeared.

“Sit next to me,” he said, eyes flicking to the spot next to him by his thigh.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He rolled his eyes.

“You have me restrained, nice ‘n uh _snug_.” He tugged at his restraints for emphasis. “Not going anywhere soon.”

She hesitated. He was right, and yet, he’d caught her off guard before during their meal. Could this be some sort of ruse?

“_C’moooon_, Celine,” he whined. “I can’t get to ya, can I? What’s the harm?”

_A lot more than I care to imagine._

She fulfilled his request only because she wanted him to settle down a little.

After tilting her flat screen so it was facing them, she dragged her blanket over to him and plopped down beside him, careful to keep a healthy space between their thighs.

Immediately, he relaxed and smiled lazily at her. His quilt was still discarded around him from his earlier struggles. She took the time to retuck it around him, ignoring his burning gaze as she did so.

Picking up the remote, she turned to him.

“So…what’re you in the mood to watch?”

He debated this.

“Got any porn?”

“_No_.”

He pouted.

“Well…” He leaned his head back against the pole. “I ah…I suppose we could watch more of your “reality”.” He made air quotations at this. “TV.”

“Really?” she asked with more excitement than she meant to.

He offered her a half shrug.

“It grew on me. I _get_ the appeal.”

She instantly turned back to the TV. It’d been stuck on guide for quite some time. She continued her earlier perusal until she saw the rerun of a show airing on VH1 that she’d not seen in _ages_.

“Rock of Love with Bret Michaels?” he read, arching a brow. “That uh the Poison guy?”

“Yes,” she answered back with a crooked smile. “He’s part of a series of shows made in the mid-2000’s that are basically trashier versions of The Bachelor. But addictive trashy. The contestants are outlandish, brash, and absolutely hilarious.”

The first episode of season one was ten minutes in.

Joker wolf-whistled at some of the scantily clad contestants vying for Bret’s attention. Apparently, there’d been a woman – Tiffany - who’d been eliminated before she even got in the house due to incompatibility (physical appearance). She was pounding on the door, desperate to get in.

Big John - Bret’s bodyguard and consultant - eventually caved in and let her return to the house.

“I’m meant to be here,” she drunkenly stuttered out with a dopey smile.

“Called it-.” He snapped his fingers. “She’ll be first to go.”

She smiled at his ascertation.

When Bret was first introduced to the girls individually, Joker made it a point of telling her which of the women he would bang and which ones he’d let his German Shepherds consume. She just about agreed with every one of his comments.

A redhead named Lacey was especially _passionate_ in her love for Bret, admitting she would take out any of the other girls she deemed a challenge.

“Oooh,” he observed, “I ah _like_ that one.”

Without thinking about it, she bumped her shoulder playfully against him.

“You would.”

He turned to her with a mischievous smile.

“Aww, is my little bunny jealous?” he cooed.

“Jealous that you’re most likely going to catch a handful of STD’s banging one of these girls?” She laughed. “Absolutely not. They’re all yours, grizzly bear.”

He bit his lip, eyes flicking down to her mouth. He made an attempt at scooching closer to her so their hips were brushed up against each other. She let him, too enamored with the show to care.

It was only on commercial break that Joker leaned in to her ear and whispered, “I’m getting a little cold. Come uh…snuggle u**_p_**.”

She eyed him for a moment.

“Is this a trick?”

“A trick?” He cocked his head. “How could getting more heat be a trick?”

She didn’t have an answer.

Cautiously, she scooted her body into his side, throwing her blanket overtop them both. His elbow descended as far as it could go, resting against the back of her head.

She was startled when he wriggled out of his quilt and pressed the side of his ribs against her side. The heat through his vest and dress shirt pressed against the heat through her t-shirt.

The show returned before she could give it further thought.

What ensued the rest of the episode was a date night of drunken debauchery, shameless behavior, questionable mental stability, Bret’s perpetual horniness, the brewing’s of a catfight, and ended with, as Joker predicted, Tiffany’s exit.

“Hahahaha_heehehe_,” he giggled as she wept on camera about it not being fair, and then proceeded to vomit into some nearby bushes. “Oooh…I _see_ why ya like these shows. Their embarrassment is _so_ exciting. One of the _e_pitomes of Schadenfreude.”

She chuckled more at his delight than the actual misfortune he spoke of. Upon this re-watch she actually felt bad for the poor girl. She was a sloppy, destructive alcoholic who only saw herself as having a good time, not a serious addict. It brought back some memories to say the least.

“What if you had your own dating show?” she said out of the blue, peeking up at him. “I can only imagine the sort of girls that would be contestants.”

“What sort do ya think?” he whispered into her ear.

She’d didn’t notice until then just how far she’d leaned into his side, head resting on his shoulder. And that his chin had been alternating between talking in her ear and resting on top of her head.

The positioning had her struggling to compose a response. Should she lean away? What did this mean to him? To her?

“Women who’ve stopped taking their bipolar medication,” she began to list off, counting on her fingers. “Women who write to serial killers in prison. Women that failed a psych exam to become a police officer. Women who tried out for Jeopardy but didn’t get on. Women that have chosen to live in the woods and go feral. Blind women. Women that have no standards. Women-.”

“I’m sensing a theme here,” he interrupted, eying the side of her face. “Trying t’a-ah say something sweets?”

She twiddled her thumbs. She could feel the heaviness of his breath in her hair, spreading through her skull.

“You have a type,” was all she said. “Just like I do.”

She felt him stiffen. Slowly, she leaned back to study what caused it.

His scars were smiling, but he was frowning.

“Like _who_? _Bruce Wayne_?”

The venom he spoke Bruce’s name with made her scoot away a little. She recalled Aesop’s warning.

“We’re not romantically involved, just friends,” she said truthfully.

“Hard t’a believe from all the photos.”

She scoffed.

“You better than anyone should know how accurate the tabloids are. He’s my best friend, nothing more.”

He wasn’t quite angry, but it was hibernating in his expression. His frown was tight, eyes sharp and narrowed. His breathing had quickened through his nostrils.

She wanted to say something to convince him, but at the last moment elected not to. She didn’t have to explain herself to him nor who her friends were and in what capacity. Whatever issues he had with Bruce Wayne, she didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of it.

She slipped out from beneath her blanket and pushed up to stand.

“Where are you **_going_**?”

She didn’t care for his tone, but answered nevertheless.

“Getting a drink of water.” She looked at him. “You want something?”

He was quiet for a long moment, face going blank.

“Why don’t you uh…_crack open_ that fifth in your cabinet? I could use something…strong.”

She stood still for seemingly minutes, staring at him. He stared back, giving nothing away.

“Sure.”

When she got to the kitchen, her movements were slow.

_I have excellent discipline now. There’s no reason to get worked up. None at all._

She poured her glass of water first before finding one for Joker. She then reached up to the top cabinet and scooped up the fifth.

_Goodness, when’s the last time I touched this bottle? If only to cradle it for a few hours before putting it back. Twenty-eight? _

Juggling all the items, she returned to the living room and sat beside Joker again. This time, she was a comfortable arm’s distance.

“How much do you want?”

“How much would you have drank in your hey-day?”

She frowned at this question. It felt like he was deliberately provoking her.

“I’d have drunk straight from the bottle, clearing it up in three hours tops.”

“Fill my glass halfway.”

She uncapped the vodka and poured it into the glass resting on her lap. The pungent stench – like nail polish remover twice removed – instantly struck her nostrils.

_Oh, welp, that’s cleared up another reason why I’ll never drink again. I don’t think I can ever drink that smell consensually._

She rose up to her kneecaps and used the pole to support herself.

Joker must have smelled it too because when she neared he exhaled through his nostrils like he was sneezing.

“Sorry,” she amended before bringing the glass to his mouth. “College me was broke and had cheap taste.”

He drank half of what she poured in before she pulled it away. When he didn’t hold back his full-body shudder, she guessed he had the means to afford the smoother stuff.

“_Sorry_,” she voiced again, meeker.

His eyes were slightly glossed over already. He licked over the interior of his mouth, trying to rinse the taste out with saliva.

When he finally regained composure, his eyes were back on the glass.

“Another?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“Why ah…why don’t _you_ take a si**_p_**? Prove ya can still hold your own.”

She felt like he’d backhanded her.

He watched her expectantly.

She abruptly set the glass down next to her, yanked her blanket away from him, and knelt.

Before she stood, she looked him dead in the eyes.

“You really hate me that much, don’t you?”

Without waiting for an answer, she meandered around the fifth, turned off the TV, threw off the living room and kitchen lights, and disappeared into her bedroom, closing it tightly after her.

Before she could tuck herself into bed and fall away from this doozy of a day, she tended to the mess Joker had made. This included returning her vibrator to its proper home, carefully pushing each drawer back into place, and picking up the occasional article of clothing that’d jumped ship.

She switched into pajama bottoms and a tank top. A lamp was flicked on beside her bed, emitting a soft, amber glow. The ceiling fan above went to its highest setting. Her clock read 11:11. She remade her bed and slipped in when it was to her liking. Though strange to some, she liked sleeping with at least four blankets. The feeling of heaviness atop her was comforting, though she’d usually have to remove two throughout the night due to overheating.

Weariness was weighing heavily on her eyes. She didn’t have much consciousness left in her.

_He did that on purpose. _

It stung. And she had let it. She had let him in. Not all the way yet, but enough for his actions to hurt.

A few stray tear drops leaked from the corner of her eyes.

_I didn’t take it. He has no power over me._

That he even offered…that’s what bothered her. She thought they’d been getting along nicely. Almost like…friends.

_I lowered my guard and he took advantage. This day is full of lessons. It won’t happen again._

It was to this thought she fell asleep.

***

It took Joker about an hour after Celine had fallen asleep for him to finally break free of his cuffs. She’d left her glass behind and he spent more time than he’d have liked, trying to find it with his feet in the dark. Dark gray storm clouds hung over Gotham and his eyesight was limited.

He’d smashed the glass against the floor with his feet, managed to pick up a sharp, wedged piece and relocate it from feet to his hands. His wrists were raw with all the tugging he’d done earlier, bloodying up the furred cuffs.

He worked at applying weight at just the right angle with the glass to break through the cheap metal chains. This involved a lot of rearrangement of his hands so as to not cut himself more than need be. He had to hand it to her, she’d done a much better job restraining him than Gotham PD did.

When he was finally free, he slid the dreaded cuffs away from him, hearing them scatter across the floor, and rubbed at his sore wrists.

They would be tended to later.

He stood and wobbled a little, unused to sitting for so long. By now, he could see perfectly in the dark. His feet carried him in the direction of Celine’s bedroom.

She must have expected the cuffs to hold for she didn’t lock her door. A dully-lit lamp atop a nightstand was the only source of light beside her bed. She had cleaned up everything he’d destroyed.

He approached her sleeping form quietly, tilting his head as he did so. She slept on her back, arms extended in opposite direction, lips slightly parted.

When he was at her bedside, he retrieved a knife she would have found familiar.

His breathing was non-existent as he first brought the knife to rest on her lips, tracing the outline of them with a light graze. She stirred a little but did not wake.

He then brought the tip to glide over her cheek, down the curve of her jaw, to her chin and then beneath it. When his movements finally ceased, the tip of the knife was pinched directly against her trachea, handle pointed up.

He watched her pulse quicken as he slid the inside of his right hand to rest atop the handle, giving just a little pressure.

When he looked up, her eyes were wide open.

They were both silent, watching the other, waiting.

“Go ahead,” she whispered, meaning it. “I never expected anything less from you.”

From her perspective, it looked like he wanted to. All expression had been wiped from his face.

This was Joker, ready to go in for the kill, savoring the final expressions of his victim.

Celine did her best to give him none, attempting to keep her breaths steady.

Just as soon, the pressure disappeared, and a step was taken back from the bed.

She peeked over at him. He was working on removing his shoes. Her eyebrows pinched together.

“What’re you doing?”

“You uh remember her?”

He showed her the blade under better lighting, keeping it a comfortable distance from her throat.

“Sally,” she mumbled.

“You’re going to keep her on you from now on. Just uh in case the taser gun isn’t on you,” he continued, setting Sally down on top of a book on her stand.

He threw his left shoe and sock over his shoulder, followed shortly by his right.

“You’re giving her to me?”

He proceeded to untuck his tie and discard it, followed shortly by his vest.

“_Yup_.”

His dress shirt buttons were hastily unhooked, and the article of clothing fluttered to the floor shortly after. He walked up to her until his knees were touching the mattress.

“Now uh…scooch over.”

He motioned her to do so with his hands.

She gripped her sheets tighter.

“What? _No_.”

He tilted his head, a smile blooming onto his lips.

“Didn’t ya- ah say you’d return me _tomorrow_?” He rose an eyebrow. “Ya still got a whole night of me and I…I’m still **_cold_**. So um…move over a little or I’ll ah…just have to find my own entrance in.”

She didn’t understand him. Not one bit.

Nor herself, as it turns out.

Slowly, she shifted over to the other side of the mattress and lifted the blankets to welcome him. He wasted no time slipping in.

It was a King-sized mattress (she had had a lifelong habit of having such intense dreams she’d fall off her mattress, mid-dream), but his presence made it feel like a twin. This was further proven when he wormed his body all the way until his front pressed into her back. One of his muscled arms slung around her waist and lightly tugged her into him.

She didn’t move as he repositioned himself to be wrapped around her as tightly as possible. Even his toes were curled around her. His nose buried itself into her hair, of which he inhaled silently, humming low in his chest as he did so.

“What is this?” she asked.

“Cuddling?”

“You shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Story _of_ my life.”

He was being evasive. She wasn’t going to get a deeper answer than this tonight.

Resigning herself to her fate, Celine tried to close her eyes and go back to sleep. And she would have succeeded if not for the hardening pressure digging into the crevice of her ass. When he rocked ever so slightly against her, her suspicions were confirmed.

_Just ignore it. If I respond things won’t be so easy to understand anymore._

He rocked against her again, arm tightening around her midsection. She couldn’t be scooted any further into him, but his arm apparently didn’t get the memo. His toes gripped onto her for her life.

She made to shift forward a little to get some semblance of space, but all she ended up doing was pressing her ass against his fully hard length.

Joker’s moan was low and delicious. She’d never had him in such a docile state. Not even while he’d been cuffed in her living room.

_Okay, no more. No more._

Her hormones were disobeying. To them, something wonderful was being pushed against her and it was her duty to respond.

The same moment he went to grind against her, she pushed right back into him.

All progress she’d made to separate their bodies was lost. His opposite hand snuck under her body and slipped beneath her tank top. He skimmed his fingernails up her side, skipping over each rib, shivers rocking through her. His cock appreciated all of these twitches. He relocated his mouth right near her earlobe so she could hear him better.

“Such a _good_ girl, Celine,” he mumbled, nipping at her lobe. “I am _not_ a good boy. And yet…”

He didn’t have to finish the sentence. Oddly enough, she knew what he meant.

His hand under her shirt finally transitioned to her bra-less chest. His large hand fully encompassed one of her breasts before giving it a shake. He groaned deeply into her ear as she rocked back into him. He thumbed her nipple while squeezing her breast.

“_Celine_.”

His licked the shell of her ear. Precum had leaked through his pants. His cock longed to be free from its constraints.

Celine felt wetness pool in between her thighs. Her stomached clenched and twisted.

“I-.” She exhaled, grabbing onto the wrist around her midsection, not realizing right away her fingers had become stained with his blood. “I don’t know…your…name. If you…moan mine…I want to moan yours.” At the last second, she added in. “Your _real_ one.”

He tensed for a moment, ceasing all ministrations.

When he answered, it was so quiet she had to strain to hear.

“You already know it.” He brought his lips closer. “Sally’s _companion_.”

He then abruptly switched his hold to her other breast, humping against her rhythmically, biting his lip at the softness of her ass.

“_Jack_,” she moaned upon realization, rubbing her ass up and down each time he rocked against her. “Oh_ Jack_.”

His mouth found the side of her neck as his thrusting increased. He kissed whatever skin he could get his mouth on, teeth occasionally nibbling deep, red marks, before soothing them over with his tongue.

The feel of his soft scars against her sensitive neck accelerated the pressure between her legs.

“Spread ‘em,” was his soft command, licking a trail from her collarbone up to her ear.

She did as best as she could considering his own leg was pressing down on hers. But his ended up assisting her, foot hooking around her ankle to pry her thighs apart.

The hand around her waist shot down to her pajama bottoms, fingers slipping beneath the material.

His groan was strained.

“Mhmm…no underwear either?” he scolded playfully into her ear. “Such a naughty bunny. Ya wanted your grizzly bear to discover you like this, didn’t you?”

It was the first time he acknowledged her nickname for him, and so throatily at that. She almost worried he didn’t have to touch her for her to cum.

His index finger and middle slid into her moistness, rubbing up and down, intentionally ignoring her throbbing clit. She tried to jerk downwards anytime his fingers came close, but he kept his distance, grinning against her.

“Jack, _please_.”

His fingers slipped into her heat, pulling out more slick before finally reaching her clitoris and rubbing harsh circles around it.

She could feel the wetness through his pants. He was stiffer than a diamond against her, cock jerking each time her ass cheeks clamped down on him.

Feeling slightly useless, she reached her right hand back to slide into his damp hair. She rubbed his scalp soothingly before giving his hair a sharp tug.

“Mmm…_harder_.”

She adhered to his command, tightening her hold and pulling back just as he pinched her clitoris between thumb and index, fingers on her breast sinking into the skin and not letting up.

It was painful, but a tolerable pain. One that married so well with the pleasure he was inflicting on her.

When he bit her earlobe and tugged it into his mouth to suck on, her thighs quaked and her orgasm coursed through her. He went down the rabbit hole soon after, cumming into his slacks, fingers in between her legs; assaulting her needy bud with speedy back and forth movements.

He continued to do this even after the last of her orgasm seeped out, causing the sort of aftershocks that had her seeking shelter even further in his hold despite there being no more possible distance to close between the two.

It was only when his own cock stopped grinding against her that he finally released her sore breast that would be carrying half-moon imprints of his fingers, and retracted his hand from beneath her pajama bottoms. He flipped her body a little so she was studying him on her back through sweat-soaked strands of hair.

She moaned from the depth of her belly as he brought his coated fingers to his mouth and proceeded to lick them clean, tongue delving between them, his own moans causing his chest to rumble.

“Mmm…just as I thought. _Much_ better than takeout.”

His smile was infectious. She couldn’t remember feeling so blissed out and so…relaxed. Like a meteor could strike right now and she’d only snuggle deeper into the man beside her.

They lazily watched the other. She repositioned herself so she was now on her side, facing him. Her fingers traced the tissue of mostly healed over scars on his body. He easily had more than her. She paused upon landing on a fresher one near his ribs.

“I did that, didn’t I?” she recalled.

He only studied her through hooded eyes, expression dark and strangely smug.

She bent over to kiss it, and then kiss another above his left nipple, and another near his sternum, and another by his lower abdomen. He watched her with slightly parted lips.

Her last stop was cradling his face and bringing her lips to land first on his left-cheeked scar, then his right. The tissue was still so puffy and she wondered if he didn’t renew the wounds every few years so they would maintain their garish appearance.

_I’ll choose not to think about this now._

She leaned back from his scars, only for Joker to capture her mouth in a devastating kiss that produced a whimper she didn’t think herself capable of making. His kiss spoke of some sort of unagreed promise. What that promise was, she was too tired to think over.

Not long after, she passed out, tucked securely against his chest, their legs intertwined, his fingers rubbing languid patterns along her back. A few minutes later, he followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, that was nice wasn't it? Question is- how seriously will either of them take it? Especially as it's becoming evident they have undeniable chemistry.


	9. Chapter 9

Celine came to the next morning feeling the most well-rested she’d been in years. It took her a few groggy moments to recall why. When she finally did, she wearily pulled her blanket over her face, feeling a blush come on. Oh willigers, Bruce was going to _eviscerate_ her.

_I don’t have to tell him._

Her chest tightened in discomfort at this. Bruce was her confidant, her ally, her one unending corner of support. She had to tell him, didn’t she?

_I’m too tired to accurately answer that._

When she lowered her blanket, she noticed the empty indent next to her. Thank goodness he’d skipped out before she woke up. The consequences of last night wasn’t something she was keen on discussing. Not now, perhaps not ever.

_Maybe he’ll leave it at a quickie. Needed to get it out of his system before he skedaddled off to do what he does best and leave me be._

Her gut wasn’t as convinced, but she elected to ignore it for the time being.

She exited her bed with a satisfied yawn. The area between her legs was just the right amount of sensitive that rubbing her thighs together felt pleasurable. She couldn’t believe he’d actually had the gall to…_to_…

_I need to see Agatha soon, no question about it_.

Each run in with Joker had her more and more off kilter. Her intuition was suddenly murky and unreliable. Where once, making decisions for her own well-being was as simple as breathing, now, she couldn’t help but feel like she was flirting with a very tangible danger. And though this danger seemed interested in her, to what extent would that interest last? At what point would she become expendable? Would she be ready when the time came?

Upon a perusal of her living room, she noticed her quilt was folded neatly over the back of her couch.

_That was…nice of him._

When she investigated her kitchen, she saw her half-full glass and the bottle of fifth by her kitchen sink. She was amazed to find the fifth empty. He didn’t strike her as the type to wake up and slam such an amount down. He was much too professional, much too committed to his work to incapacitate himself in such a thoughtless manner.

Which left her with the conclusion that he’d dumped it all down her drain. Why? As a form of apology? So she wouldn’t be tempted to give it a go?

When she went to toss the bottle into her trash, she noticed shattered glass. Its appearance combined with her broken handcuffs spoke for itself. He’d used his glass to destroy his chains.

_Crafty. For future references, don’t leave lying around anything he can use._

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and grabbed her phone. She’d not checked it since last night’s meal.

Her first five messages were courtesy of Aesop.

** _He’s got a locked drawer in his desk. Will try to pick._ **

** _-A_ **

** _Unsuccessful, sorry C. Gotta get out of here before someone notices._ **

** _-A_ **

** _Joker still at yours? Are you okay??_ **

** _-A_ **

** _Please be okay. Do you need me to contact Batman?_ **

** _-A_ **

** _Boss is back, he’s in a scary good mood. Please tell me you’re still in one piece. He told me good morning! I dare not ask him why. But Gil – Joker’s right-hand man – had us assemble for a briefing last night. J’s got something big planned in the coming days. It’s all hands-on deck. I like to believe you’re still with us. Get back to me as soon as you can. Please be on guard. Our directions were vague. We’re supposed to make some deliveries to a few chosen targets. Don’t know what packages are or for what purpose. _ **

** _-A_ **

She hastily texted Aesop back, not wishing to prolong his anxiety.

** _I’m fine. He escaped during the night. Left me alone, thank goodness._ **

No one needed to know the specifics of what occurred. Not yet anyway.

Her next message was from Wesley.

** _Still on for lunch today? _ **

She sent a word of confirmation to meet at 1 while her eyes glanced at the calendar. Today was Monday and in less than five days June would be over. It had been a life-rattling month; in some ways she’d aged more over the course of the past few weeks than the last couple of years. Strange how life worked in that regard. The universe sent you someone every now and again to test just how much you really knew about yourself.

Agatha had texted her sometime throughout the night as well, apologizing that her stay would be delayed until the 1st of July. However, as soon as she arrived in Gotham, she would let her know so she could stop on by the store. Celine wished her a safe trip back and a reminder that she couldn’t wait to see her.

Her final text was from a phone number she didn’t recognize. And the number had a photo attachment to it.

She clicked on the message, and then the photo.

Her mouth dropped open.

_That motherfucker!_

The photo was of her asleep, facing away from the camera. Her pajama bottoms were slid down to her knee and along the curve of her right thigh in purple Sharpie it read:

JOKER WAS HERE

followed by a grotesquely drawn smiley face and a couple of arrows pointing to her private parts.

The message below the photo read:

** _Talk about blackmail, huh? Talk to ya soon!_ **

She’d never felt such a strong urge to strangle someone. Never.

She sprinted to the half-bath and hesitantly lowered down her pajama bottoms, turning to her right as she did so.

“Son of a bitch!”

He’d actually drawn on her passed out form. IN PERMANENT MARKER. Gods, she didn’t have a violent bone in her body, but she was pretty sure his scrawling had instilled one.

She could just imagine him trying to stifle back giggles, tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth. She was honestly surprised she hadn’t woken up while he’d done it.

_He has my phone number._

Well, that ruled out whatever it is they were doing being no more than a quickie.

As she fumed, Aesop’s messages came rushing back to her. She put her irritation on hold to send a text.

** _Hey Bruce, Aesop gave me a heads up that Joker has something big planned, probably in the next few days. Keep a lookout and be safe._ **

She hadn’t even returned to look at herself in the mirror before he texted back.

** _Does he have any more specifics? _ **

** _Only that he and some of the other men have to deliver packages to certain targets. That’s all he knew. _ **

When he didn’t respond, she let it be. He was no doubt on his way to talk with Commissioner Gordon to see if he’d been privy to any recent activity or information regarding Joker or his men.

The next half hour found Celine beneath a showerhead, scrubbing furiously at the marker on her thigh with a combination of soap, rubbing alcohol, and sheer will. By the time her fingers were pruned up, her skin glowed red. A few faint smudges remained, but for the most part, it had all been scrubbed clean.

After she had toweled herself off and slipped into comfortable clothes, she brewed herself up some extra black coffee, threw in some Irish creamer, and plopped down on the desk in her bedroom, laptop set out before her. It was just shy of eleven-thirty. She had at least an hour to go before she needed to head out to meet Wesley.

She began to work.

By far, Gotham’s most popular dating app was one called _Moonbeam. _It was inspired by Gotham’s bustling nightlife; and was wildly popular with young and middle-aged adults alike. The elderly were more than welcome too. Sixty-five, if she recalled correctly, was the highest you could set your age as.

She tapped her foot as she worked, lips dancing upward with each stroke of the keyboard. In the background she had _GOLD: Greatest Hits_ by ABBA playing.

**Full Name:** Joker (JoJo the Clown)

**About You**: Gotham! I, Joker (AKA JoJo), am in need of a companion. Terrorizing Gotham gets to be _so_ lonely! This is where YOU come in. I am seeking ANYONE in the age range of 30 to 65 (the older the better) to help quell my lonely heart. Beneath the façade of madman, I’m just a sensitive clown in need of some tender loving.

I am thirty-four, I have green hair (don’t care), I don’t know what toothpaste is (do you eat it?), and I _need_ to find someone who loves Batman just as much as I do. This is a **must**. If you’ve never fought Batman, don’t even bother messaging. 

**Occupation:** <strike>Flirting with</strike> Fighting Batman and blowing stuff up

**Interests**: Long, romantic strolls through dimly-lit alleyways; Batman; knives; Mariah Carey; lap-dancing (giving); wiener eating competitions; baths with my rubber duckie Dr. Quackie M.D.; picking at scabs, Sephora, My Little Pony, crashing funerals

**Dislikes**: Scarecrow, mental stability, girl scouts, wazoos, basic hygiene, Commissioner Gordon (especially when he puts me in time out!)

**Perfect First Date**: You come dressed as Batman, I’m wearing an orange jumpsuit. I throw my drink in your face, you chase me. I wander through alleyways; you don’t let up. I hope on top of a dumpster and strip, you throw me $10’s and $20’s. I hop over you and run, you pursue, I enter an instrument store, you search for me, I grab a bassoon, you grab a trombone, we play “Sweet Caroline” while making bedroom eyes at each other. I stab you with the bassoon, you throw the trombone at me, I evade it, you curse, I run, you follow. I enter a mattress store, so do you, I hop from mattress to mattress, you’re not far behind, the floor is lava, you almost get burned, I land on a King, you land on top, we’re both panting…I kiss you, you kiss me…we…?

By the time she was finished, Celine was grinning ear to ear. She wouldn’t post it. _For now_. She was aware all that she’d just constructed was a result of agitation in response to his behavior. She didn’t like to act from such an aggressive emotion. Better to be level minded.

But still…his profile was funny as shit and it’d be a shame if it never saw the light of day. She’d even chosen a profile photo in which someone captured Batman gut-punching Joker, who was cackling despite the pain. Didn’t she promise earlier to make him a dating profile? Yes, and here it was. It was just a matter of time before posting it.

***

Wesley was already seated near a babbling brook where dozens of butterflies were weaving along the banks, dipping low to pollinate a seemingly endless row of blue, pink, and orange Hibiscus flowers.

The moment she’d stepped foot in _Edenia, _Celine’s pace had slowed to take everything in. Tropical flowers were sprouted every which way, some she knew like orchids, Hibiscus, and Angel’s Trumpets; others she was entirely unfamiliar with. Bumblebees and butterflies flew about, careful to weave between the wicker chairs and wooden tables placed a comfortable distance apart from each other so as to give plants, flowers, and humans space alike. The entrance itself was an arch-shaped vine that had allowed an ivy plant to weave around its entirety.

It was difficult to believe such a serene place could exist in Gotham. She felt like she’d wandered into a fairy tale. 

She was careful to watch where she walked in the soft, lush grass so as to avoid accidentally stepping on a butterfly. Sometime before entering the outdoor restaurant, she took off her sandals. Barefoot walking, Agatha had previously mentioned, was one of the best ways to ground yourself. Nothing but feet against Mother Earth; a mutual exchange of energy.

“Hey!” Wesley waved over, setting down his espresso. “So good to see you again.”

He stood and wrapped her up in a tight hug, of which she returned. He was such a welcome distraction from Joker that she could immediately feel the tension of the past twenty-four hours slowly seep away.

“Good to see you too, Wes.”

They sat at a two-person table. Not shortly after, their waitress set down a water for her as well as a menu.

“What’re you going to get?” she asked, perusing the sandwiches.

“I've been staring at this panini since you got here,” he said, pointing at the menu. “Been wanting to go here for awhile actually. My sister raved about it for weeks. Then again, it’s also where her fiancée proposed to her.”

She took another moment to glance around. At most she counted twenty seating options, all of which were full. Intentional, she decided. Any attempt to try to squeeze more into the large green space and they’d be infringing on both plant and animal life.

She turned back to look at Wesley just as a gold and black butterfly landed on the rim of her glass. Its antenneas wiggled as it tip-toed toward her.

When she’d been twelve, her mother had taken her to a butterfly greenhouse in North Carolina. It’d been one of the rare trips she’d saved up for from her assistant managerial job at _Leo’s Diner_. Celine had not even been in school two hours before her mother showed up unexpectedly and signed her out for the day. They’d driven along the East Coast, the Atlantic their ever-present companion, stopping at niche gift shops and crab shacks along the way.

It was in that greenhouse that Celine first learned the importance of being patient with creatures so much smaller than you. To tread carefully for you shared this Earth with more than just your own two feet. That something so small could carry just as big an impact as you.

She extended her arm toward the glass, not touching it, but letting it linger. Letting the butterfly decide rather than enforcing her will onto it.

The butterfly glanced down at her elongated finger before hopping on to it. Its back legs protruded tiny little hairs that allowed it to grip onto her skin and maintain its position.

Carefully, Celine brought it up to her face, lips splitting into a nostalgic smile.

“Wow,” Wesley spoke softly, eyeing the scene. “Our waitress told me the butterflies tend to steer clear of people. Not everyone knows how to be so…calm with them.”

“It takes time to learn,” she agreed with a soft murmur, watching its wings flutter. “We often forget that just because we’re at the top of the animal kingdom doesn’t mean we’re more important. All species serve a purpose. As the most consciously evolved of them, it’s on us to co-exist, not the other way around.”

The butterfly seemed to nod at this before shooting off its hind legs and taking off. She watched it, blinking back a few tears that wanted to fall, but she’d not let them. The past could not be returned to, only appreciated for having occurred.

She ended up ordering a spinach, tomato, red onion, and genoa salami sandwich on a toasted brioche bun. And as they ate, they caught up.

Wesley informed her in the time they’d parted he’d become a financial benefactor and teacher at an orphanage in North Gotham for pre-teen and teenage youth. He not only helped kept it run, but updated the orphanage’s text books, classroom boards, desks, chairs, and computers (which according to him had yet to catch up to the 21st century).

They wanted to install a plaque at the front of the orphanage with his name on it, to thank him for his generosity, but he’d been, while flattered, extremely uncomfortable with the act. It wasn’t for notoriety he’d done it, but to get to know Gotham’s youth, to educate and inspire despite some of their downtrodden situations. It was one step in the right direction for checking off his bucket list goals, which seemed forever ago he’d whispered into her ear in the basement of St. Genevieve’s Parish.

“They uh-.” He scratched the back of his head as a bumblebee sailed over his head. “-love hearing the hostage story for some reason. And anytime I tell them what the Joker was like, half are in awe and half are scared witless. I’m some sort of hero to them in a weird way.”

Her stomach was in knots as he relayed this. What would happen if they met her and she recounted her experiences up until now? Would she be hero or villain in their eye?

Shaking away this thought, she took her last bite, licking at her thumb as she did so.

“What about you, Celine? What’ve you been up to? What’s July got in store for you?”

_Well, I tied the Joker up in my house and he escaped, slipped into my bed, and fingered me. Besides that, you know, the usual._

She coughed, taking a sip of her water.

“My friend Agatha is coming back on the first, so I’m excited to see her. She um…owns a…kind of a new age shop, but less…pretentious. Sells spell books, crystals, meditation guides, incense, sage, tarot cards…all that jazz. It’s for people who practice or are practicing at home. Spirituality tends to get a bad rap. Those who claim to be enlightened can’t go two seconds without telling someone about being enlightened. True spirituality is…personal. Between you and your soul. It’s a solo journey and I’ve uh…sorta stalled on mine. I need her to help me get back on track.”

“I’ve never been in one before,” he admitted. “What’s hers called?”

“House of Intuition. A little…theatrical sounding, but you immediately feel a calmer vibe once inside. Agatha is this sweet forty-two-year-old woman that always has tea at the ready for her clientele. She can help you get started on your spiritual journey or answer any questions you have. She’s eternally patient like that. Like…a second mother.”

Wesley smiled at that.

“Welp, you’ve convinced me to at least stop by. I have great reverence for the Dalai Lama and the way he articulates what spirituality means and the importance of cultivating it. Maybe it’s about time I stop focusing on admiring figures like him and start working on my own.”

“That’s an idea,” she encouraged, leaning back. “I um…I also have my birthday coming up, but not until later in the month.”

Wesley sprang up in his seat, eyes wide.

“When?!?”

“July 22nd.”

He was contemplative for a long moment, chin resting on his intertwined fingers. His eyes then lit up.

“What?” she laughed.

“I know what to get you as a present.”

“There’s no need. A simple happy birthday or card will suffice.”

He shook his head.

“No way! You’re friends with Bruce Wayne. Surely, he goes all out.”

“He’s attempted to,” she admitted. “The first year I knew him, he bought me a small private island off the coast of Costa Rica. I politely had it refunded. He knows now to keep it simple.”

“But what if…what if it’s not just a present for you, but for me too?”

“I’m not following.”

He brought his hands up, as if he were expecting her to decline.

“Hear me out. Ever since our whole hostage ordeal, I’ve been…proactive in doing what I’ve always wanted to, but never had the courage or confidence to go through on. Life is fleeting, that’s what that experience taught me.” He leaned forward, though everyone else was too far away to hear. “I was going to hold it off until September, but with it being your birthday soon and with it being, well, you…I couldn’t think of a better time, nor companion.”

She cocked her head, still not entirely sure what he was talking about.

“I’m going on a three-month excursion around the world. To see what I nearly never got the chance to because I let uncertainty hold me back. Two weeks in South America, two weeks in Europe, three weeks in Asia, three weeks in Africa, a week and five days in Australia and the Oceanic/Pacific Island countries, and two days in Antarctica on a research base my father got me permission to stay at. He’d gone to school with a classmate that’s stationed out there.” He looked at her expectantly. “Come with me. Start your-_how old will you be_?”

She answered as if she were lost in a fog.

“Thirty-two.”

“Start off your thirty-second unlike any other year in your life,” he encouraged. “You’re an adventurer, Celine. You have wanderlust in your veins. Just like me. We’ve been contained to Gotham for so long we not only nearly died but forgotten there’s a whole planet for us to see. To explore. People to meet. Cultures to integrate into. Histories to learn. Experiences to be had. I knew I was waiting for something. For someone. You’re it. Let this be my birthday gift to you. Come with me.”

It took a few seconds to process the gravity of all that he’d said. And was it awful of her that she couldn’t find many reasons to say no? All that he’d hit upon…feeling claustrophobic in this city, the yearning to explore on a greater scale, see history, experience more than just what they’d been used to for so long…create memories and embark on adventures…

She had opened her mouth for a reason in that basement. He had poured into her his hopes and dreams, many of which mirrored hers. It was no coincidence they now sat here, him offering her the opportunity of a lifetime. Turning thirty-two…still an age young enough to throw caution to the wind and live life to its fullest while her health remained. She didn’t have too many years left where such circumstances would be in her favor.

_But it’d all be on such short notice. I mean-within next month! I have to make sure my passport is still up to date. And arrange plans, and plans for those plans just in case an issue comes up with the app. I might have to give up the apartment. I certainly don’t plan on paying those three months of rent while I’m away. I need to pack and see my finances and get the proper adapter cords and debit cards. Make sure I’m up to date on all my immunization shots. I’ll be away from Agatha and The Cheekbones and John and Bruce and Jac-._

She froze, feeling as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on her.

Wesley noticed her lack of movement. He waved a tentative hand in front of her face.

“I don’t know,” she finally said, snapping out of it. “It’s all on extremely short notice. I can’t promise I’ll have everything arranged by then. Plus…in mid-August I do an annual road trip back home to Maine for a weekend. See friends and relax at my old house. I’d…hate to miss that.”

“Is there any way to postpone it?” he asked hopefully. “Or maybe take it sometime earlier in July?”

“It’s…possible.”

“And I’ll help you with arranging everything. _Bruce_ will help you. He goes above and beyond when it comes to you.”

_You don’t know the half of it._

“Let me ask you something.” He brought his hands together, eyeing her seriously. “Do you have any issue packing up all your clothes and sight-seeing the world for three months? Is there anything holding you back in Gotham? Anyone?”

“No,” she said slowly, realizing this was the truth. “I’m not native to this city. All the family I’ve made have been through friends and I know they’ll be waiting for me when I get back.”

“All the more reason to say yes.”

When she didn’t answer right away, Wesley leaned back and shook his head.

“Sorry,” he said, running a hand through his black hair. “I got a little carried away. I didn’t mean to pressure you. It’s just that…I don’t believe in coincidences. This is going to sound sappy, but we were meant to cross each other’s path.”

He continued studying her.

“I don’t need an answer today. Or tomorrow or next week. Just…think on it.” He peered around at the green grass and blue sky with puffs of white clouds sailing by. “I swear…we were put on this planet to explore it. It’s only greed and borders that keep us from doing so. I’ve had the privilege to be born into money, something I am never _not_ aware of. It’s a careful balance between giving to others and living for yourself without guilt. Personally, I think you’ve done more than your fair share of giving. You were willing to risk your own life for me without hesitation. I just…I want to do something for you. Something you could benefit from…if only you’d be willing to take the leap.”

She was touched by the words, genuinely on the verge of saying yes.

But it was worth sleeping on. Her emotions were wired and hectic. As she’d experienced earlier in the day, a level mind would help her come to a wiser decision.

“I’ll consider it,” she promised. “You’ll have an answer at least a week ahead of time. When were you planning to take off?”

“Well, I figured I’d let you enjoy your birthday, and we head off the day after.”

She nodded.

“Thank you, Wesley. It’s…a very thoughtful gift.”

“I owe you my life,” he said. “Why not make the best of it?”

***

On the way home Bruce had texted her asking if he could stop by her place. He hadn’t given any specifics, which made her slightly nervous. Her night with Joker still weighed heavy in her chest. Should she or shouldn’t she say something? Could her friendship endure such secrecy?

He was waiting in his car by the time her taxi arrived. He got out just as she approached the building.

“You look like hell,” she commented as they made their way to her apartment.

“Feel it,” he mentioned beside her, slipping his hands into his pockets. “This Aesop guy…mention anything else?”

“He’s been silent. I’m guessing it’s too risky to text. Might not be able to until this whole ordeal is over.”

He massaged his face as she unlocked her door.

“His intel was sound,” he informed, following her in. “Gordon caught one of Joker’s trucks. He wasn’t there, but fifteen of his men were. They were stocked to the brim with AK-47’s. They uh…”

He looked down at his feet, shoulders tensing.

“What is it?”

She longed to nibble at her fingernails but didn’t care to make him more nervous than he was.

“They killed themselves before police could swarm in. It was…not a pleasant sight.”

Her heart stuttered.

“Did you see the bodies?”

He nodded grimly.

“Did any of them have black hair, most likely combed to the side like Elvis Presley? Silver streak through it.”

“None,” he confirmed, instantly easing her. “They were all younger guys. Gordon said a lot of them were recent prison inmates that’d been released. I think…I _think_ he knows we’re on to him and that truck was a diversion.”

She slumped into her couch, patting the cushion next to her for him to sit. He did so just as tiredly.

They were silent for a long while, staring blankly at the television.

When he glanced at her he noticed tears glistening her cheek.

“Hey.” He turned to her, brushing a few loose with his thumb. “We’ll figure it out. We’ve always managed to subdue him in the end.”

She shook her head, breaking free of his caress.

“He…was here last night.”

He stiffened, hand hovering at her cheek.

“Come again?”

“When I got back home he was waiting for me. I shot him with the taser gun and …restrained him to the fire pole.”

He looked at the pole, as if seeing him for the first time.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

His tone was thankfully not as accusing as she worried it’d be.

“I wanted to know why he was having me followed. I promise, I planned to hand him over after. He…escaped before I got the chance.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment.

“Did you find out?”

She shrugged.

“I don’t know. He said it was because he wanted to. Offered no explanation beyond that.” She hugged herself. “I feel awful. And I’m going to feel worse if he does something that pulls a high kill count.”

He sighed and leaned back into the couch, maintaining his focus on her.

“You and him.” She could tell he was searching for the right words. “You’re fascinated by one another.”

She didn’t bother arguing the obvious, missing Bruce’s lingering gaze on the newly bloomed hickeys scattered along her neck.

“While I don’t condone it, you’re also a big girl. And you got out in one piece, so you must have done something right. I wish you would have called, but I get it.” He didn’t sound happy about it, but such was burden of being her friend. “First Scarecrow, now Joker. You sure know how to pick them.”

He was trying to make light of the situation, but all it did was make her feel worse.

Sensing this, he pulled the quilt out from behind them and wrapped it around them both. One hand slipped around her side and pulled her into him, letting her head rest on his chest. They stayed that way for close to a half hour, saying nothing, doing nothing, just using the other as a well-needed vessel of support.

“I have to get going soon,” he mumbled, peeking down at her. “See if Gordon’s picked up anything else.”

“Stay safe, please,” she murmured against him. “If this ends up being bigger than you can contain…don’t try to go it alone.”

She realized she must have sounded like a hypocrite right then. Cautioning him to be wary when she’d been just as careless.

“Do you hate me?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, dreading his response.

“You’ll have to try a lot harder than that to get me to hate you.”

His smile eased her. She brought him in for a tight hug, not wanting to let go. If she let go, she might never get him back.

“Love you, Bruce.”

“Love you too, Celine.”

Hours after he’d left, she was practically snoozing on the couch, a stream of drool trickling from the corner of her lip. She’d been glued to the local news channels, waiting for any sort of anomaly to grace the screen. Anything that would give her a heads up as to what was coming.

Her phone dinged, startling her out of her near catatonic state.

The phone number she was coming to recognize as Joker’s, sent her another text. She almost wanted to block his number but was worried she’d miss something crucial regarding his intentions.

** _Watch Channel 5 tomorrow morning ; )  
I’ll see ya after the fun is over. Keep Sally on ya!_ **

She thought to pester him for more information, but knew it’d be pointless. He shared only as much as he cared to, nothing more nothing less.

With a defeated sigh, she turned off the TV, the lights, and went to her room, fully ready to pass out in hopes of having enough energy to handle what was to come the following day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wonder what our evil bby boi has up his sleeve >:)


	10. Chapter 10

She’d overslept by the time the “fun” had begun. Her dreams had been restless, none of which she could recall now, but each forcing her to break out into cold sweats. He’d even managed worm his way into her subconscious, which was one of the few escapes she had from the brashness of reality. He was not welcome but was much too potent a force to kick out. Gods, she could not wait until Agatha returned. He’d wiggled his way so deeply in; she was desperate for anything to extract him out.

Her phone was brimming with texts. Bruce, Wesley, and a short sentence from Aesop. Each centered around the same advice: stay inside if you can; if you go out, be very careful.

She flipped on the news at just a little past ten, desperate to know what sort of chaos Joker had unleashed upon Gotham.

Apparently a little before nine o’clock he’d broadcasted a video that was still circulating amidst every major news channel.

As per usual, his hands were shaky as he spoke into the camera, lapping at his scars every few minutes.

_“Whyyy goooood morning Gotham! How about a lit**tle** game to start off this wonderful Tuesday?”_

_He nodded to himself as if it were all the confirmation he needed. His make-up had been meticulously re-applied. Behind him was a brick wall that did little to give away his location._

_“Living in the city has ah- its limitations unfortunately. Namely, hunting. Nothing like a good, heart-pumping hunt t’a ree-lease all aggressions.”_

_He glanced off camera briefly before bringing his face closer to the frame._

_“And I got just the purrrrfect idea!” He beamed as if he’d struck the lottery. “We, Gotham’s mod**est** citizens, have been duped. Cheated. Bamboozled. Taken ad-**vantage** of by leaders sworn to better our luuu-vely city. Whom do I speak of? Glad ya asked! Their names are Councilman James Silverra, Councilman Harry Millburn, and Councilman Pete Buck. Which rhymes with-well, ya don’t need me to tell ya.”_

_He chortled at his own innuendo._

_“We, as citizens, need t’a hold these elected officials responsible. What kinda city would we be if we let them flaun-**t** and galli**vate** without cons-eh-quence?”_

_He sucked in one of his scars, tongue dabbing up any loose saliva._

_“Soooo…I ah figure it’s time we put our City Council to the test. Do what we uh elected them to do.”_

_He leaned back so the brick wall was visible once more._

_“Forty-seven of your less corruptible councilmen and women woke this morning t’a a surprise on their front door. A ah little present from yours truly.” He gestured at himself dramatically before bowing. “Revolver for theee ladies, shot**gun** for the gentlemen. They uh…they’re gonna do a little citywide clean-**up**. Forty-eight hours. Two **full** days. Within this time frame, I expect Councilman Silverra, Millburn, and Fu-I mean Buck t’a face proper justice from their fellow constituents. Only way t’a face justice is t’a-.”_

_He aimed one of his hands – which was mimicking a gun – at a target off screen. A disembodied whimper sounded. _

_“-bang bang bang bang! Weed the rot**ten** from the bunch.”_

_He shook his head, hair nearly obscuring his face from view before returning his focus forward._

_“For once I am on **your** side Gotham. Only with the deaths of Silverra, Millburn, and F-Buck can we again prosp-**per** as a city.”_

_He was moving to a corner of the room._

_“If our lovely constituents don’t ah deliver on what the people need within two days, I’m afraid their kiddos are gonna be the ones t’a face the cons-eh-quences.”_

_He panned over to a large group of bound and gagged persons clad in school uniforms, all huddled into a corner of the room, some actively sobbing. Their age range was anywhere from six to seventeen. _

_“The future of Gotham depends on ya to do the right thing,” he spoke into the camera. “The citizens of Gotham depend on ya to do the right thing. So uh…get on your mark. Get se-**t**…happy hunting!”_

The video went static. A news anchor was soon back on air.

“To those just tuning in,” the anchor relayed, “Joker has issued an ultimatum to forty-seven elected members of the City Council. Councilman Silverra, Millburn, and Buck are to be found and executed. If Joker’s demand is not met-.”

Celine turned the news off before they could think of a suitable way to convey the worst-case scenario.

“Christ,” she whispered into the room, slinging her head back. “Christ, Christ, Christ.”

There was no doubt in her mind the three councilmen responsible for abusing their positions would be hunted. No doubt. The other councilmen and councilwomen’s children’s lives were at stake. No years of professional acquaintanceship would cancel that out.

She wondered if Bruce or the police were currently housing the three. She wondered how on Earth the three men _and_ the children could live without one suffering a grisly death. She wondered whose side the citizens were on. Because pained as she was to admit it, this time around Joker’s game didn’t involve the senseless deaths of innocents. His targets were persons who had intentionally deceived the general public by caving into their own hedonistic urges. Did they deserve to die? No. Did they deserve to face some sort of retribution for their action? Yes. But because no one else had the courage to hold them accountable, Joker decided to be the one to set that retribution in motion. She suspected this time around he wasn’t as much a villain in the public’s eye as he’d been times prior.

_Do I wait this out then? Write a little more and pretend there aren’t three city councilmen being hunted by their fellow co-workers with revolves and shotguns like some Medieval witch hunt?_

She flipped the news back on, only to wish she hadn’t.

“Councilman Pete Buck was shot point-blank in the back of the head by Councilwoman Elaine Boone not a full ten minutes ago as he attempted to slip out the back of the Belmark Hotel and into his sedan. The driver was also killed. Councilwoman Boone has been arrested. We strongly caution against going out unless it is absolutely necessary. All schools have been closed. I’m…I’m being informed the city council members are being joined in their hunt by other gun carrying citizens who claim they just want the children returned safe and sound. The location of Councilmembers Silverra and Millburn are at this time unknown.”

She lowered the volume until it was a faint mumble.

Begrudgingly, she had to admit, Joker had outdone himself.

Now that the average citizen knew they were spared, they’d tune in to watch the hunt go down, or even take to participating in it. One of the symbols of unity and prosperity – City Council – had imploded and was scurrying about to Joker’s tune. He had their children. He could make them do his bidding for as long as he wished. They were lucky it was only the shamed councilmembers deaths he wanted.

_How do I feel about this?_

It’s a question she often asked herself when her feelings became ambiguous on an ethical issue. Unsurprisingly, she asked this often in the tenure of her friendship with John.

Unable to be denied was the bottom line- Joker’s actions made sense. Had she not been just as disgusted upon learning what Gotham’s public funds were being spent on? Did she not wish, however brief, for some sort of hammer of justice to come barreling down upon them?

_Yes, I won’t deny that. But…not like this. They deserve to be impeached from their positions, lose all pay, stripped of all titles, be back to lowly citizens. Not…hunted for sport by their former councilmembers, who themselves are losing touch of their humanity and sense of mercy the longer their children are withheld from them. Who is running City Council right now? Is the building empty save for the janitorial staff? Does Gotham even realize how easily Joker stirred up anarchy just within a couple of hours? What sort of barbaric frenzy he’d whipped people into?_

She guessed not. Emotions were running high. Everyone was too intoxicated by their own to think clearly.

Think first, then do. It was as Bruce had said…eventually, Joker would be subdued.

The children were the key. Find the children, reverse the werewolf effect. Find the children before Gotham found Councilman Silverra and Councilman Millburn. 

Right. Easy. Now…where to look?

After a half hour of contemplation, she realized she would need assistance. She knew how to code and program, but not how to hack and navigate public and private camera footage. There was only one person she knew well who did.

“Taj?”

He sounded as if he’d just woken up.

“Mmm…something wrong with the app? Did it crash again?”

“No, nothing like that.” She had her laptop resting in her lap in the living room. “You been keeping up with today’s news?”

“Uhh…Joker-something-yadda-yadda. Same shit, different day.”

“He’s got hostages. The city councilmembers children. I was hoping you could help me find them.”

He was quiet on the phone for so long she thought he’d hung up.

“Taj?”

“Um…not that it’s my place to tell you how to live your life, but are you sure you want to get involved? You were kidnapped yourself just a month ago. Really want to get back on his radar so quickly?”

“He’s turning our city’s leaders into murderous hounds who shoot first ask questions later. It’s a matter of choosing your battles…this is one of them.”

“Can’t let Batman or GPD handle it?”

“They’re too busy making sure the city doesn’t descend into chaos. There are armed civilians marching the streets. If they don’t stifle it there’s going to be martial law declared by tomorrow.”

His sigh was grave.

“What do you want me to do?”

She scrolled through the article she’d been reading of all that had transpired since Joker’s video began circulating the press.

“The kids were all kidnapped between the time they were dropped off for school and the time first classes began. Almost all of them attend Ludgate’s Private Academy. They had a school-wide field trip today to Gotham Zoo. Out of the six buses that were boarded, one is missing. Any chance you can pull footage from nearby cameras between say seven-thirty and eight-thirty? Give me a rough idea of what direction they were heading and follow as many street cameras as you can before they disappeared?”

“Sure, hang on a sec.”

As he worked, she had Google pull up a map of Gotham City. Ludgate’s Private Academy was located in a wealthier residential area in the west of the city. It was home to one of two private academies in Gotham, generally reserved for students from upper middle class to high class families. She was surprised no villain ever thought to target one of these institutes sooner. Granted, these academies had excellent, twenty-four-hour security. But if there was any way to have Gotham’s elite dangling in the palm of your hand, it was to lay siege to one of these places.

The background of Joker’s video did little to narrow down his location. She had his footage minimized on a separate screen, muting the video and studying what was behind him. The brick looked faded and worn; like it’d seen better days. Certainly not a place that had been touched by renovation anytime recently. The lights bathing the kids was artificial, not natural. Most likely boarded up, though she couldn’t be sure.

“Celine?”

“Roger.”

“Roger? It’s Taj.”

“No, I mean roger as in roger, I’m here.” She chuckled a little. “Makes it sound more professional and…spy-ish.”

He sounded amused.

“Are we going to have codenames?”

“Sure, what do you want yours to be?”

“Hmm…Viper One sounds good to me. What’s yours?”

She bit her lip.

“Zeeeesty-_ah_ Meatball,” she elongated, giving all Italians a bad name with her accent.

“Please don’t make me repeat it like that, Zesty Meatball.”

“Roger, Viper One.”

She could hear his fingertips clacking over his keyboard.

“So, I followed the missing bus for about ten miles before they reached the Narrows entering east. They had an electromagnetic receiver of some sort that caused most of the exterior cameras they passed to glitch just a little…blink and you’ll miss them sort of thing. Can’t say which direction they went after entering the Narrows. They shot out one of the last street view cameras at an intersection.”

She was quiet for a moment, left thigh bouncing a little.

“It’s like following breadcrumbs then, right?” She magnified the map to focus on the eastern edge of the Narrows. “They only tampered with the cameras that could possibly glimpse them. It’s gotta follow a specific trail, doesn’t it?”

“Sounds about right.”

“In the last couple of hours, could you tell me what cameras in the Narrows also glitched out? Or at least slim it down to a radius?”

“Making me work for that glory, eh?”

“Think of it as unofficial police assistance. You’re serving Gotham _and_ Batman.”

He grumbled something unintelligible.

“Looks like they wove for a while through side streets near the poverty line.”

The poverty line was an invisible line in the southeastern half of the Narrows that ran perpendicular to a major freeway that cut through Gotham and merged onto US-41, a highway leading to the east coast near the Atlantic. It’s what she took to get onto the expressway that lead her all the way north to Maine.

The Narrows in general weren’t somewhere you wanted to be wandering at night, but in the premises of the poverty line was exceedingly dangerous. Gangs roamed this area, searching for either recruitments, drug mules, or to get the residents hooked on pre-cut opium. Buses that entered the area all had bullet-proof windows installed due to the frequent drive-bys. Not even the bravest police officer would be caught there without at least a few cruisers for reinforcement.

She wondered if the police had realized yet this was the area Joker was keeping the children. Intentional, she thought. Take some of Gotham’s most privileged, put them in the seediest, most dangerous neighborhood the city had to offer, and she couldn’t imagine many of them were willing to escape. Worse would be done to them on the streets than under Joker’s captivity.

“Did they deviate from the poverty line at all?”

“Tough to say. Once you get to the projects, a lot of the businesses are either closed or too financially strapped to afford good surveillance. But it is where the glitching was most prominent.”

She was silent for a long while, thumb tapping against her laptop.

“Zesty Meatball,” Taj spoke, “please tell me you’re not going to do something stupid.”

“I’m not going to do something stupid.”

“Is that a promise or are you just saying what I want to hear?”

“Uh…it’s definitely one of the two.”

He groaned.

“I like working for you, Zesty. Not keen on going back and filling out applications for greedy tech companies.”

“You’re talking like I’m already going to fail.”

“There’s a version of this where you’re successful?”

Her lips twitched.

“Such pessimism,” she playfully scolded. “Is it too out of the realm of possibility that I find his hideout, rescue the kids, and drive off on my merry way?”

“This is Joker,” he stated seriously. “Guy’s not gonna just lower his guard and allow the hostages to get free.”

“Then we’ll have to create a reason for him to leave the premises, won’t we?”

“We?”

“Me, sorry,” she amended. “The bus driver that took most of the hostages…do you think they were paid off or killed?”

“Can’t say. Neither would surprise me.”

“Hmm…” She leaned back and rotated her neck, cracking it in each direction. “Any chance you can get into Ludgate’s employment logs? Find out who was driving the missing bus?”

“Figured you’d ask that eventually. Guy by the name of Dennis Hodgson. No track record, excellent work sheet. Hasn’t missed a day in his ten years with the school.”

“He own a cell phone at all? If he’s got it on him maybe we can trace it.”

She listened to his fingers work their magic.

“Has a contract with Gotham Wireless…let me get into his phone’s tracker.”

He cursed a moment later.

“His phone was tossed before they reached the Narrows.”

“Damn,” she mumbled. “What about any of the kids?”

“That’s a negative,” he said. “Confiscated and destroyed, I’m guessing. There’s no track signal for any of them.”

She set the laptop down on the table, running two hands through her hair.

“Think,” she murmured. “Think, think, think.”

It wasn’t until she saw her own cell phone sitting on the cushion next to her on speaker that inspiration hit.

“Uh…Viper One?”

“Roger, Zesty.”

“Let’s say hypothetically I had Joker’s phone number. Hypothetically speaking, if I gave him a call and he answered…hypothetically…would you be able to trace the location that way?”

He was dead silent.

“Viper?”

“Celine.”

She’d never heard him so serious before.

“Yes?”

“Why the hell would you have his cell phone number?”

“He may or may not have found out what mine was. And he may or may not have texted me from it already.”

“Lucifer H. Christ, Celine. What the hell happened between you two?”

“Nothing that’s relevant to our problem,” she deflected. “If I kept him on long enough, could you track it?”

Again, he was muttering something she couldn’t make out.

“Is it a burner?” he finally voiced.

“I…don’t think so, but I can’t be sure.”

“Even if I could,” he said. “He’d be stupid not to have some sort of reinforcement to hide his actual location. I…I could try to see the nearest cell tower his phone accessed to answer the call, but nothing beyond that.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’m going to give him a call.”

He sounded as if he’d slapped himself on the forehead.

“You need to find a way over here, then,” he said. “I’ll need my equipment and I can’t get all of it down to you.”

“Sure, sure.” She glanced at the time. “I’ll drive over. Can’t imagine too many taxi cabs want to be out in this.”

“Even if we manage to get a nearby location, what’s your plan then?”

“I haven’t thought it through that far,” she admitted. “I’ll consider my options on the drive over.”

“Well be careful, alright? I just looked out my window and saw a herd of twenty people storm past my street, armed to the nines.”

“Will do, thanks Viper.”

She hung up and attached her taser gun holster to her hip. The state of Gotham right now was unpredictable, so, she tucked Sally’s blade into its handle and slipped it into her pocket.

Her car sat in a nearby underground parking lot. Because she enjoyed wandering the city, she rarely took it out. Plus, gas was getting to be outrageous. Much more cost-effective to use it only if she were leaving the city or visiting a friend on the outskirts.

It was a dark silver, early 2000’s Oldsmobile with a permanently dented, previously replaced red hood from one of the times she’d crashed it driving drunk. A family friend from Calgary Cliff sold it to her while she’d still worked her first job in high school and she’d done whatever was needed over the years, maintenance-wise, to keep it running. Call it a sentimental thing. One of the few items in Gotham tying her to her roots.

Bruce had been aghast the first time he’d laid eyes on it. Well, maybe aghast wasn’t the right word.

_“For the love of god Celine please let me update it. That vehicle poses a greater threat to you than anything else in this city.”_

Personally, she liked that it looked like a clunker. She’d said as much to Bruce.

_“If I had a nice vehicle,” she explained, “I’d have to worry about upkeeping it. If I’m on the freeway, I have to be nice and let people merge and pass. Not with my baby. My baby gives no shits if she has to skim past you. I can get down and dirty with her. There’s no commitment to driving politely. Plus, your fancy, shiny car is far more likely to get broken into than mine.”_

He’d reluctantly conceded that point to her, though anytime it neared Christmas he would casually try to mention car models similar to hers that were on sale.

She patted her hood, fingers tracing some scuff marks.

“We’ve got work to do, baby.”

***

She arrived at Taj’s loft in just under an hour. It’d have been sooner, but she had to slow down any time masses of armed individuals randomly sprinted across the street. Few cars were out, though she’d passed at least thirty police cruisers in her drive north. They were desperately seeking out armed citizens in hopes that they could be negotiated with and herded home. From what it looked like; they weren’t all that successful.

Thankfully, she’d not caught any shootouts. Things had not descended to that level of bedlam…yet.

She buzzed Taj’s apartment number to his high-rise, eyeing her surroundings as she did so. Funnily enough, it was Sally her hand patted rather than Bruce’s taser gun. She hoped to avoid using either but couldn’t be too careful.

He buzzed her up seconds later.

Taj was in his mid-twenties equipped with an afro of caramel, curly brown hair. He had dark brown skin and uneven facial hair that he claimed he never had enough free time to groom. Rectangular specs gave him an air of sophistication, and when he spoke, it was with a bored, matter-of-fact tone. Nothing personal, he wasn’t a know-it-all, it was just the candor in which he communicated.

“I thought you’d never get here,” he exclaimed upon unlocking his door and sliding it open. “How bad is it out there?”

“Could be worse,” she answered, stepping in. “People are in formations at least.”

She followed him to his bedroom, where two hard drives powered four window screens. The lights overhead almost always remained off. The screen and hard drives’ blue glow more than made up for the lack of light.

Taj plopped down in his leather chair, eyeing her cautiously.

“Come up with a plan that won’t get you killed?”

“Sort of,” she said. “Verdict is still out on that second part.”

He sighed, rubbing his forehead.

“Wayne is going to murder me if something happens to you.”

When he reached out his hand for her cell phone, she gave it to him, letting him do whatever he needed to establish a secure line capable of being traced.

“You know,” he said offhand, “_Gotham Inquirer_ said-.”

“I know what they said,” she interrupted, a little sharper than she’d intended. “None of it is true.”

He shrugged but didn’t comment.

She received her cell phone five minutes later.

“Keep him on the line for at least a minute,” he said, fingers flying over his keyboard while his eyes remained focused on his fourth window screen. “Like I said, I can get close to him, but it won’t be exact.”

She nodded, looking down at the number Joker had texted her from. With bated breath she brought up his contact information and hit ‘call’.

_He might not even answer. Probably too busy to-._

The other end was picked up half a second after the first ring.

“Hiya sweets, _sooooo_ delighted to hear from ya. Call t’a congratulate me on a job well done?”

Through his headphones, Taj was able to hear everything between the two.

Celine had mentally rehearsed on the drive over just what it was she’d say. From prior interactions, she concluded playing ignorant would reel him up the most. Now that there was miles of distance between them, she kinda looked forward to provoking him.

“Job well done?” she asked, cocking her head. “What do you mean?”

She swore she heard a scoff.

“Don’t ah be **_dense_**,” he growled. “I told ya to watch the news.”

“Oh yeah, I guess you did,” she recalled lightly. “Sorry, had a late night, just woke up. Ate some cereal. Took a shower. Bird-watched. Practiced my French.”

He was taking his sweet time answering. They were already fifteen seconds into the call.

“You uh…you really don’t know what’s happening outside your window?”

“It’s a little cloudy,” she noted. “Um…I think there’s some sort of marathon going on today? People have been sprinting all over the streets.”

Taj was biting the inside of his cheek; picking up on the growing frustration through the other end.

“You’re telling me you haven’t _once_ watched the news today?”

“No,” she answered as honestly as possible. “Fill me in.”

His sigh was so long and drawn out she had to stifle down giggles.

“Sorta declared a little open _hunt_ t’a cleanse the filth that is City Council. Ya remember those three pampered shits that were stealing public funds? One’s dead, two t’a go.”

“Huh…and what makes you think killing these three councilmen is what Gotham needs to better itself?”

She mentally gave herself a high five. He had a tendency to boast. Why not give him a question allowing him to?

“Would you rather have your elected leaders _whoring_ themselves out?” he answered testily. “This is _faaaar_ from the worst I’ve done. These people actually deserve it! I’d uh have thought you out of anyone would understand.”

“I get it, but this seems dramatic is all,” she pointed out. “I’m guessing you’re also responsible for the armed citizens taking to the streets?”

“Beee-ah-_utiful_, isn’t it? I ah…I feel like a commander.” He was quiet for a moment. “You have Sally on ya, right?”

Taj peeked at her, silently mouthing the word ‘Sally?’

She waved him off.

“I don’t know what she’d be able to do against a group of people wielding revolvers and shotguns,” she said offhand. “But if I end up killed by one of these civilians, no exorcist alive will be able to protect your ass from me.”

She expected him to respond one of two ways:

“_It’s not my problem_.”

or

“_Toughen up_.”

His actual response blindsided her.

“Shh, _shh_…it’s okay. I didn’t mean to frighten you, little bunny,” he soothed, tone softening. “Are ya at home? I can send some of my more loyal men t’a keep watch over ya.”

The phone nearly slipped from her hand. She had not expected him to respond so…so…_thoughtfully_.

“No, no, it’s okay,” she hurriedly replied. “I’m-at Bruce’s.”

_I should not have said that. Oh, I should not have said that._

A moment later the line went dead.

Taj was staring at her, neglecting the blinking on his screen.

Her eyes looked everywhere but him.

“Little bunny?” he repeated, head tilted. “Celine…_what the fuck_?”

“Did you get the trace or not?”

He looked like he was going to continue questioning her, but at the last second, refrained.

“No. Five more seconds and I’d have had him.”

She groaned and closed her eyes at the flub, phone tapping rapidly against her chin.

“Celine-.”

“Hush.”

“But-.”

“Shh.”

“He called you-.”

“I know what he called me.”

“He was going to send-.”

“Taj.” She made eye contact with him. “Just…let me think.”

He stayed silent as she considered her options.

“There’s no way around it,” she decided. “I have to go into the Narrows.”

“How do you expect to do that?” He looked her up and down. “If I saw you in that part of the city, I would mug you without hesitation.”

“When anthropologists do fieldwork on a subject they don’t know well, they assimilate into their environment any way they can,” she said. “This won’t be too dissimilar.”

He leaned back in his chair, causing it to squeak in protest.

“And what exactly do you have planned?”

“I was uh…homeless for a short spell after dropping out of GIT.” She rubbed the back of her neck, not particularly willing to linger on that time of her life. “But I learned criminal organizations love recruiting the homeless because their payment is so simple: a roof over their head and warm food. Recently, Joker lost a lot of men because GPD managed to nab them. Combine that with the amount he loses killing them himself and I can’t imagine he doesn’t have a recruiter constantly seeking out hired hands. I have an inside guy – one of Joker’s men – who can hopefully point me in the right direction. I find the recruiter; I have a way in.”

“Why not just ask your inside guy where they’re holed up?”

“Joker knows my guy is soft for me. He’s already risking his life keeping me in the loop. I’m not going to push it.”

Taj nodded, his confidence in her slowly returning.

“What happens after that?”

“I set up a distraction. Something that’s tantalizing enough to drive Joker from his location. Disguise or not, I can’t afford to have him recognize me.”

“He’ll have armed men standing watch.”

“That will be tricky,” she agreed. “It will all depend if the bus is on location or not. My guy can hopefully clear that up for me. If it is, I get them on without causing a ruckus. That’s the rough draft of the plan.”

“A very, _very_ rough draft,” he corrected. “Celine…why don’t you just let the police handle this? Or Batman? Or…I mean…just wait for those other two councilmen to be killed. He’ll let the kids go then.”

“It’s a matter of principle,” she defended. “The police and Batman are the only ones doing something to keep things from becoming volatile. What are you doing? Or the average citizen, provided they’re not storming the streets? You’ve all got your feet propped back, watching this unfold like it’s a game. Joker is banking on that reaction. He couldn’t be happier you’re all too apathetic to care who lives or dies_. I care_. Men like him should not be allowed to decide the fate of this city. I mean…one councilwoman is already in custody for murder. How many more lives can he unravel before people finally snap out of it? He’s not in charge, Taj. We have a choice to fight back. That’s what I’m doing.”

Doubt brewed in his expression, though, she could tell her explanation settled him somewhat.

“Well…you’re not doing this alone.” He ran a hand through his mop of hair. “I’ll be your eyes and ears. What do you need me to do?”

“Keep me updated on what’s happening in the city and with the remaining two councilmembers. I don’t want to be caught off-guard.”

He nodded, stroking his chin, gaze narrowing at her.

“You’re not the same person he kidnapped,” he observed. “You came out of that whole ordeal…different.”

“You disapprove I take it?”

“Not in the least.” He offered her an indulgent grin. “I didn’t think I’d live to see the day Gotham’s most notorious villain would develop a crush on kind little Celine Harlow.”

“He does n-.”

“Oh he does _so_,” he butted in with a leer. “He spoke to you like he was seeking your approval. And take it from me; men – _especially_ men like him - don’t seek anyone’s approval unless they really, _really_ want you to like them. Sorry to break it to you, Zesty, but he’s crushing _hard_ on you. Just a heads up…something you might need to deal with later down the line.”

“You’ve been reading too many issues of the _Inquirer_.”

He chuckled.

“Well…I guess only time will tell.”

She was out of his apartment ten minutes later, face still flush with embarrassment. But she had the bones of a plan laid out and she hoped dearly it wouldn’t be in vain.


	11. Chapter 11

Wednesday morning ushered in rain clouds and a fierce wind. Celine watched the news for any further updates as the sky rumbled with threats of a downpour. It appeared Councilman Silverra and Millburn were still nowhere to be found and the search for them was ballooning in size. Schools were still closed, and the mayor had done an early-morning interview imploring citizens to return to their homes and let GPD handle things. Needless to say, the interview wasn’t very effective.

Not wishing to work herself up any further, Celine set off from her apartment a couple minutes later and hopped on a nearby bus.

Aesop hadn’t been able to get back to her until nearly midnight last night. He’d been curious as to why she wanted to know the recruiter’s name, but she avoided giving a direct answer. The less he knew, the better. She wouldn’t allow him to risk straining his loyalty and credibility with Joker or the other men.

A man named Gil was apparently who she needed to speak with. He was one of Joker’s longest lasting acquaintances and often worked separately from his boss. Aesop described him as a designated survivor. If something happened to Joker, Gil could continue operations from a different location. Because of his importance, he was rarely seen in Joker’s company.

She’d thankfully been doused with a bit of luck. The bus indeed was still on the perimeter. Again, Aesop asked to know why, but she chucked it up to curiosity, feeling a little bad for keeping him in the dark. But it was for his own protection, even if he didn’t realize it yet.

She learned Gil was currently bunkering down at a decrepit motel called _Yorker Inn_ near the Narrows’ business district. Room 23.

Transit deposited her three blocks from the motel at a rickety, bullet-worn bus stop. She intentionally wanted to have some distance from the motel, both to avoid suspicion and to hype herself up throughout her walk there. Appearance-wise, she thought she had it in the bag. If Bruce had chosen at that moment to pass her by, he’d not have recognized her.

Everything she wore was from the two months she spent living either on the streets or a homeless shelter. She was clad in black sweatpants that carried a hole in the right kneecap, a long-sleeved charcoal-colored shirt, and a slightly too large gray hoodie she’d been given ages ago from a charitable nun at the shelter. Just for a hint of personality and a clue as to the sort of person she was, she wore a thick, cheap gold chain around her neck that broadcasted ‘wannabe gangster.’

Her shoulder-length hair was greasy and unkempt. And no longer was it or her eyebrows their signature white-blonde. She’d spent her evening dying both a jet-black color, almost unable to recognize herself in the mirror after they were dry. She looked edgier, but also a little sickly in contrast with her pale skin. If she survived this ordeal, without question she was switching back to her natural color. 

Overall, her physical attire satisfied her. She looked like she smelled, and she smelled like she didn’t have access to a shower.

What had been the most difficult to alter was her bust. She had a rather noticeable one and no matter how much clothing she hid beneath, her gender switch wouldn’t be fully believed unless it was…restricted somehow.

Stephanie had saved her in that department. She thankfully didn’t live far from her and had been taking refuge at home, waiting out the chaos when Celine stopped by yesterday. During the winter Stephanie was frequently out and about, trying out for roles in plays that were to her humor. She was confident enough with who she was to not be picky if the role was male or female. As a result, she had a fair share of binding tape at her disposal.

Combine this with her best sports bra and Celine could easily pass for someone of the opposite gender. She’d told Stephanie it was for a character she was thinking of sharing with the group, and the woman was ecstatic to see it brought to life. She’d even offered to sprinkle on some thick, black facial hair she’d recycled out of a bristly wig that had only ever been used once in a high school production of _Hairspray_.

One well-spruced five o’clock shadow later and even Stephanie was side eyeing her with interest.

Celine opted to go by the alias Lonnie. Nothing too unique to stand out; something simple and easily forgettable. Sensing that she’d be searched upon meeting Gil, she made the difficult choice to leave her taser gun at home, unwilling to risk him finding it and blowing her cover. Sally, however, was tucked snugly in the inside of her worn, left sneaker, causing a bit of discomfort anytime she walked. 

As she scoured her surroundings, a crippling moment of doubt punched her in the gut. Could she pull this off successfully? How far would her persona get her? Even if she somehow managed to reach Joker’s hideout, what are the odds she could get the children out without incident? She was putting herself at grave risk without guarantee of a good ending to this day. It wasn’t like her.

And then again, yes it was. The difference this time around is she was being proactive instead of inactive. She was doing something rather than assuming Batman or the police could handle it. It was stepping out of her comfort zone in a way she’d never done so previously. It was utilizing everything she’d learned in improv to be as believable as possible. She was equal parts nervous and excited. Nervous at all the things that could go wrong, excited to see how far she could get.

Anytime she got to thinking about how the odds weren’t in her favor, she reminded herself she had Taj just a text away (her phone was stuffed under the chest bindings), she had at least one form of defense, and she was making a genuine effort to do good. That in itself was motivation enough to keep on course.

Content with this pep talk, Celine set off to the motel, hands stuffed in her pockets, head hidden beneath her hoodie. Up above, the clouds churned and shifted to a dark silver. She briefly turned on her phone to see if Taj had any more updates. His only text had her uneasy.

**I guess Councilman Millburn has been found. He and his family have been trying to get to the roof of his apartment and on to a waiting helicopter, but it keeps getting shot at. Police are trying to diffuse the tension from the ground, but a few people managed to get inside the building. It’s not looking good for him. Will text if I have any more information.**

She turned off her phone and sighed, chewing on her bottom lip.

_If his family is harmed in the crossfire, that might be the catalyst for Gotham to descend into anarchy. If that happens…_

Not even a minute later and it began to downpour. Hard. She could barely make out a bus stop at least fifty yards ahead of her. Her legs shot off toward the structure, keeping her head down to avoid getting pelted with the rain.

She’d just sprinted past an alley between two shut down businesses when she felt something sturdy hook around her waist. A moment later and she was dragged backwards into the alley.

Whoever held her did so with one arm as the other attempted to cover her mouth to prevent a scream. Her teeth snapped at the fingers and managed to bite down on one, causing a pained curse to emit from behind her.

“Damn it Celine!”

Her body slumped at the voice. She allowed the individual to tug her further into the alley until they were hovering beneath a side entrance to what was a former nightclub. The entryway had a mustard-yellow awning protruding from the top, temporarily sheltering them from the torrential rainfall.

She twirled around to face the man who’d grabbed her, blinking owlishly, making sure she wasn’t hallucinating him.

“John?”

She reached out a hand and brushed her thumb over the curve of his cheek, knocking loose a few droplets.

His hair had grown out since she’d seen him last. The tips of his brown locks were now curled above his shoulders. It looked like he’d gone a week without shaving; which was unlike him but certainly added to his handsomeness. It was the dark circles under his eyes however that had her nervous. They were heavier than she’d ever seen them before.

“Where the hell have you been?” she demanded, unable to keep the shrillness out of her voice. “I’ve been trying to reach you for ages!”

He’d yet to release her, grip tightening ever so slightly.

“I had to destroy my phone,” he said. “Couldn’t afford to be interrupted.”

She was a little hurt at the answer but didn’t ruminate on it. Her voice softened.

“Are you doing okay?”

He tilted his head a little, licking at his bottom lip before grinning with his teeth. It was a characteristic she often associated with his alter ego Scarecrow. One of the telling signs that she was no longer dealing with John.

“I’ve never been better,” he practically purred. “This newest serum…it’s finally where I want it to be.” He brought her closer to him, peering into her unblinkingly. “I want you to try it. Tell me how effective it is. Just like old times.”

She tried to wiggle her way out of his grasp but wasn’t very successful.

“I want to speak with John.”

He laughed a little.

“And why would I do that? _Hm?_ He's pitifully weak when you're around.”

“You are a guest in his body, not the other way around. Let me speak to John. Now.”

Her relationship with Scarecrow was…less than ideal. He made no qualms to deny that he viewed her as a liability; a hindrance to the glory he was capable of achieving. During trial sessions with John’s serum, Scarecrow would often take over and howl with genuine enjoyment at the pain she underwent. She had enough sense to not take it personally. Scarecrow was an extension of John, not the other way around.

After eventually sharing her anxieties regarding her safety, John insisted Scarecrow knew not to harm her. Apparently, he’d threatened to kill himself if any harm befell her and reluctantly Scarecrow adhered to the order.

“Fine,” he stressed, rolling his eyes. “But you and I will have to reacquaint ourselves soon. And I so _very much_ look forward to it.”

Before she could stop him, he gripped her chin and leaned into her. His tongue shot out and with a heart-pumping slowness he licked the side of her face from the corner of her jawbone up to her temple.

“Shame,” he whispered in her ear. “You’d taste better if you were afraid.”

Her knee struck him in the crotch a second later, forcing his hands to drop and cup himself.

“You do that again and I’ll rip out your tongue.”

“Promises, promises,” he wheezed, stumbling back up. “It’s unfortunate Jonathan doesn’t have the balls to sample you. He’s thought about it.”

Her expression caused his grin to turn manic.

“Aww…you actually thought his feelings were only platonic. Sorry to break the news pumpkin, but he’s jerked it to you on more than one occasion.” He mimicked the act with a crudeness that had her blushing. “How do you think we recognized you? We’d know that ass from a mile away.”

“Let me speak to John,” she repeated.

“One day he and I will be one in the same. Let’s hope when that day comes his softness for you outweighs my contempt.”

She didn’t let on how disturbed she was by this comment.

_What the hell happened to him? He’s always been careful with how long he lets Scarecrow out to play. _

“Celine?”

She studied his eyes to make sure Scarecrow was fully submerged.

When he reached out for a hug, she involuntarily recoiled.

“Apologies,” he said, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. “I attempted to stop him from getting…_inappropriate_, but he’s been bolder as of late.”

“What’s causing it?” she asked, maintaining her distance.

“The new serum. I’ve worked non-stop on it. He wouldn’t leave me alone until it was finished.”

Frowning, she ventured a step toward him.

“I was really, really worried about you. You’ve never disappeared on me like that before.”

“I know.” He tried to smile, but it only got halfway. “He didn’t want me to have any distractions.”

She nodded, not exactly pleased with this information.

“What are you doing here?” she redirected.

He cupped the back of his neck, averting his gaze.

“Scouting,” he mumbled.

“You were going to release your toxin here?”

“I contemplated it, until I saw you. He is correct in that regard. Without you as a test subject I don’t have an accurate way to measure this serum to past versions. There… are a few pigeons in the attic above where I work. I’ve released it up there twice, once at dawn and once at dusk. The results are fascinating. The pigeons peck themselves to death in under sixty seconds. An…_encouraging_ development.”

She didn’t care for the pride coloring his voice.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, scanning her get up.

She neared him so they could hear each other better over the rain.

“You manage to catch what Joker’s up to?”

John smiled.

“Oh yes. Exhilarating, isn’t it? I haven’t witnessed Gotham this riled up in years.”

“Those kids he kidnapped…I’m trying to get to them. To do that I need to infiltrate his ranks. He’s got a recruiter stationed out of the _Yorker Inn_ who handles new personnel. I’m on my way there.”

He re-examined her with a careful squint.

“Would it help at all if I told you where the brats are?”

She was stunned.

“You know where they are?”

His shrug was casual.

“I have an inside man working for him. I suspect he wasn’t all that pleased with my temporary alliance with the Bat. It pays to know if he’s closing in.”

She nearly laughed at this revelation. John had an inside person; she and Bruce had an inside person. Who the hell else had one? And how was Joker not aware of all the deceit among his men?

_People to stab, buildings to blow up, former hostages to harass. He’s a busy clown._

“Those councilmen deserve to face punishment,” John stated, snagging back her attention. “You can’t deny this.”

“And there will be a lot of dead kids if they manage to avoid being caught. I can’t stand idly by and let that happen.”

He smirked.

“Ever the humanitarian, most toward those least deserving of it. I admire your commitment, however misplaced.” He closed the distance between them. “He’s holed up at the scrap yard behind where that dingy hotel _The Braxton_ used to operate.”

She bit her lip, contemplating this information. Did she even need to meet with Gil now that she knew his location?

“I could help you,” he offered. “Empty out that whole building in under a minute.”

“You are not using your serum on them,” she argued. “Those kids wouldn’t stand a chance.”

He shrugged.

“How else then do you plan to lure him away?”

She thought it over a moment. This had by far been the most difficult question to answer. Joker knew what a gold mine he had with the councilmembers’ kids. He’d be very averse to leaving them in the hands of his men.

“Does Joker frighten you?”

John scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“He’s a gnat,” he stressed. “A fruit fly. Persistent, inconvenient, an aggravation. The only reason I don’t kill him is because once in a blue moon – now is a good example - he’s entertaining. But even that will wear off eventually.”

When she remained quiet, John sighed.

“I’m to assume you’ll need my help?”

“I don’t want to put you in a position where your life might be at stake.”

“That would be unfortunate, but I am the ideal candidate am I not? He has been gunning for me all month. His people have infiltrated every criminal organization in search of me. I am the priceless prize package. Similarly, I would prefer this plan of yours not to end in your death.” He frowned at the thought. “Having said that…I cannot lure him out if I don’t have some sort of proposition. To make things interesting for him. Make the trip worth his effort.”

She internally agreed.

“You’re going to tell him,” she said, “that you learned who Batman is. And that you will trade his identity for a truce.”

John’s eyebrows shot up.

“And who exactly is the Bat _Man_?”

“Whoever you want it to be.”

He eyed her critically.

“You know…I always suspected you knew who he was. To strengthen the credibility of your proposition, can I not know too?”

“If you knew who it was, you’d kill them in a heartbeat.”

“Scout’s honor I won’t.”

“You might not…but Scarecrow would.”

His shoulders sunk at this.

“Fine,” he grudgingly conceded. “But I fully intend to use my toxin on him and whoever he brings. If I’m to agree to this, I am entitled to my research.”

He picked up instantly on her hesitance.

“Oh.” John bit his lip and grinned. “You…are…_besotted_.”

“I am _not_.”

“No?” He reached out a hand and moved away her hoodie, exposing her neck. “I know all too well you don’t date, nor do you engage in casual sex. So, it begs the question- these hickeys are courtesy of whom exactly?”

She pushed his limb away, tugging her hood back into place. Unfortunately, her action betrayed her.

“Intriguing,” he noted. “And yet…unsurprising. Not until watching you two interact did I see how similar you were.”

“We are not.”

“No, not in an obvious way. You are good and he isn’t. This alone would have one assuming you are ill-suited for one another. But…you are one of the few who does not feel shame for the darker aspects of your natural self. You utilize your intimate knowing of that self to relate to persons from all walks of life. And it has been my growing theory that Joker…_craves_ to be understood even if his actions imply otherwise. Similarly, you are not a dumb woman. There is a fully functioning brain inside your cranium, a self-awareness that’s refreshing. And an unpredictability that titillates _and_ stimulates. It is only natural you two would gravitate toward one another.”

She rubbed her face and shook her head.

“If I have to endure one more person saying we like each other I’ll kill him just to prove a point.”

John chuckled at that.

“In all the years I’ve known you, you have never been one to live in denial. I must say…it is _most_ amusing to witness.”

“Happy to entertain, I’ll be here all weekend,” she deadpanned. “Are you _sure_ you’re willing to help me?”

“I am.” His lip twitched. “And are _you_ sure you don’t mind me using my serum on him?”

He watched her reaction like a hawk.

“You’re going to end up using your serum eventually,” she reasoned, ignoring the bit of guilt that drummed in her chest. “Better on him than a crowd of unsuspecting civilians.”

“How utilitarian of you,” he noted, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a burner phone. “I got this today in hopes of reaching out to you. Odd that we should stumble upon each other in such a manner.”

He read off his new number to her and she saved it.

“Text me if you can when you are on your way to the scrap yard. I will hopefully have him gone before you arrive.”

She nodded, re-hiding her phone.

“And Celine?”

She looked up at him.

“Turn your brain off.”

At her confusion, he elaborated.

“Joker’s man Gil is just as capable of ascertaining character and intellect. He knows who is expendable and who is an asset. As you well know I loathe ineptness, so I made certain my inside man had a brain. Regrettably, I had not warned him to turn it off. Gil sought to teach him his place. That he was not above Joker and that he expected nothing but unwavering loyalty. There may have been some…_iron_ _branding_ involved.”

Her eyes widened. 

“From what I have learned since, he does not do this to recruits that are your generic, run-of-the-mill goons. Persons lacking resilience and willpower, thus easily subjugated and manipulated. You will want to be one of these people. Otherwise, you may find yourself in more trouble than you can handle.”

_He has them branded? It’s so primitive. So unnecessary._

At least from her perspective it was. From his, it was a permanent reminder of whom your allegiance was to. She wondered if Aesop carried a branding mark. It would explain why he was so fearful to step out of line and show his humanity.

“Consider it turned off,” she said a moment later, turning an invisible notch with her fingers. “I appreciate the heads up.” She glanced down at herself and then met John’s eyes. “Be honest…do I look the part?”

“Are you planning to speak like that?”

She coughed and lowered her tone to one of meekness and uncertainty.

“No.” She rearranged her crotch a little, noticing Bruce doing this more times than she could count. “Uh…hey. Name’s Lonnie. Heard from my dealer you the guy I go to if I need cash.”

“He’ll ask the dealer’s name. Try again. Also, less timidness. They’ll kill you if they presume you to be too weak.”

“Name’s Lonnie,” she voiced gruffly. “Hear you was hiring. Down to do whatever, no questions asked.”

John stroked his chin, pursing his lips.

“Are you aware who it is you’ll be employed for?”

Her shoulders slumped up and down carelessly.

“None my business less you want it to be. The girlfriend’s pregnant, abortions ain’t cheap. Ain’t ready to be a daddy. I’ll do whatever to whoever, whatever the price.”

“Better,” John remarked. “Treat it like an actual job interview. Don’t go on about yourself more than needed. Answer only when spoken to. Be subservient and keep your eyes on your feet. Making prolonged eye contact with a man like him speaks as a challenge. He won’t care for that.”

She nodded, guzzling in all his suggestions.

“And don’t try to play hero until the time comes,” he said. “You may have to witness them doing some immoral things. Remain stoic and detached, even if it’s difficult.”

“I will.” She raked her fingers through her hair, tossing a few bang ends over her face so it was partially obscured. “Thank you, John. I’ll have to buy you another gift to repay you.”

“Yes, you will,” he agreed smugly. “Please try to refrain from getting killed. Gotham would be so very boring without you.”

“And you text me back after this is all over,” she shot back. “Don’t leave me in the dark like that ever again. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

“Let us hope we never find out,” he mentioned, digging deep into his pocket for something. “I had this on me just in case I found the perfect place to use it today. Considering the danger you will be putting yourself in, you will need it more than I.”

The black cannister fit nearly perfectly in her hand. A circular pin similar to that of a grenade was inserted into the top of it.

“Rip out the pin and toss it as quickly as you are able to. Make sure you are not in the same room when the gas emits. In fact, make sure you are not in the same building. It spreads quickly and the inclination towards violence is almost immediate. I have no antidote to this. Making one is a painfully lengthy process. Do you understand?”

She examined all sides of the cannister, thumbing it thoughtfully.

“How well do you think I’d be able to handle this?”

John inhaled sharply.

“Better than most considering your acclimation…but…it is not necessarily fear alone this newest serum exacerbates. In previous versions violence was a byproduct of the fear. In this one, they go hand in hand. It would not be wise to assume this is something you can handle without great difficulty. And if you can…inform me of this because I clearly have not heightened it to its full potential.”

It struck her just then why he persisted so strongly in making a more updated, potent serum. Naively, she’d assumed it was to use against Batman.

“I’m the inspiration for this, aren’t I?”

John rubbed his neck, unable to meet her gaze.

“It bothers you that I built up a tolerance to your previous versions. You made it better so I could feel it again.”

“I didn’t,” he denied, grimacing. “Scarecrow did. He detests that you don’t fear him. As I said, he’s grown bolder as of late.”

She stared at the cannister, almost wishing to hand it back.

“He said you and him will be one someday. Is that true?”

John sighed and blinked a few times.

“I haven’t the heart to answer that. Without medication, his influence is…more significant. I am hoping the completion of the serum will satiate him, however temporarily.”

That he could barely maintain eye contact in relaying this troubled Celine greatly. The thought of John being permanently melded to his more sadistic half, who by the sounds of it was only becoming more powerful, had her contemplating scenarios she didn’t care for.

“Medication helps you said?”

“I _refuse_ to go back to Arkham,” he all but growled.

“That’s fine, we won’t let that happen,” she assuaged, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Is it possible to get some from a pharmacy?”

“This particular medication is restricted to mental health hospitals. None of my former colleagues would be willing to assist me, and I would sooner eat a bullet than ask any of them.”

She chewed on her lip, refusing to let this problem remain unsolved.

“What’s the name of the prescription?”

He finally looked at her, somewhat stunned that she hadn’t yet been deterred.

“Clyzomene. It is a recent addition to the antipsychotics family. The prescription should at least be 600 milligrams, otherwise it is ineffective. I had my suspicions that coupled with an anticonvulsant like lithium, my condition might further improve. Sadly, Dr. Arkham didn’t seem to agree. He still lacks the ability to admit I know more on a subject than him. Ugly trait for such an allegedly esteemed doctor.”

“Clyzomene, 600 milligrams. Lithium. How many milligrams?”

“You have a contact at Arkham who is able to get this for you?”

“No…but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try. I refuse to lose you to Scarecrow, John. This is your body, your mind. He is a ghost wandering the halls, looking for an opportunity to possess you fully. I won’t let that happen.”

He hung his head down, palm covering his mouth. His shoulders shook a little.

“Thank you,” he murmured so softly she barely registered it. “2,400 milligrams should be a suitable starting point.”

When he looked back up at her, the faintest hint of tears were present. He cleared his throat and blinked rapidly.

“I…good luck, Celine.” He straightened up. “Let’s hope our paths cross again sooner than later.”

She extended her arms and brought him in for a long overdue hug. Her face snuggled into his chest, appreciating the tightness of his arms around her. They made her feel anchored in reality. Not so lost in the what ifs of her plan failing. The what ifs of Scarecrow taking over and never giving John back.

When he departed a minute later, the rain had thankfully returned to a persistent drizzle. She ran a hand once over her facial hair before exiting the alley toward the motel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's hope Celine is successful, otherwise she might be in for a world of hurt! :O


	12. Chapter 12

The _Yorker Inn _was a two-story motel covered in a hideous coat of yellow siding that aged and cheapened the building beyond its ten-year residency. Each room’s door faced outward with a rickety iron rail preventing anyone in the second story from tumbling over. For no apparent reason, the rooms were all odd numbers. If Celine wasn’t in such a rush, she’d have inquired about it at the front desk. Did the builder have omalonuperophobia? Were odd numbers simpler to remember?

She had stuffed the cannister John had given her beneath the underside of her breasts, tucking it snugly against her phone. Thank goodness she had the binding to hold them both, otherwise one good shake of her body and she’d be spilling out goodies like a battered pinata.

Before making her way up the stairs to room 23, she rehearsed the voice she’d be speaking with, the background she’d given her alias Lonnie, and the body posture of a thoroughly worn down, desperate man eager to make a quick buck. John’s recommendations aided her greatly. It wasn’t just her brain she needed to shut off, but her dignity too. It was becoming apparent what sort of people Joker liked to have under his thumb. She planned on being the model employee.

When she finally worked up the confidence to knock on the door (a Do Not Disturb sign hung on the handle), she did so with her head cocked up slightly, making her face viewable through the peephole. Footsteps thudded to the other side but made no move to open the door. Her skin tingled at the sensation of being examined.

A couple seconds later and the door cracked open. A tall, bald-headed man with numerous tattoos scattered along his neck, peered out at her with an unwelcome frown.

“You got the wrong room,” he grumbled, readying to close the door on her.

Her foot lunged out, momentarily halting the action.

“Uh…I’m looking for work. Heard you might be hiring.”

She scratched at her arm before surveying her surroundings with a squint. As if she too were worried about being seen by the wrong person. 

“Might be,” came the man’s slow answer, re-scanning her. “Might not. Depends.”

Her brows rose slowly.

“What on?” She lowered her voice. “I’m pretty god damn desperate, man. Not here to waste your time.”

Quicker than she could react to, the man grabbed her shoulder and tugged her toward him by her sweatshirt.

“Depends on if ya pass the interview.”

He shuffled backwards and opened the door. With a grunt he tossed her inside, closing and locking the door after her. She wasn’t able to catch her balance and ended up landing awkwardly on her knees, hiding her wince when her kneecaps struck the carpeted floor.

Not willing to appear weak, she was back on her feet in a matter of seconds, eyeing her environment as discretely as possible.

The room had one unused bed, a desk holding an assortment of papers (someone with their back to her was standing over it, continuing their work despite her appearance), and two musty-looking floral wing chairs, one of which was occupied, the other covered in duct tape to keep the chair’s stuffing from falling out. The wallpaper was a nauseating pinstripe mix of brown, orange, and red. The bulb above them cast the room into an amber glow. Behind her, the curtain to the only window was closed tightly.

Her gaze was drawn back to the man occupying one of the chairs, one leg casually strung over the other. He was busy reading a newspaper, most of which covered his upper torso and face, remaining anonymous to her until the bald man behind her cleared his throat.

“We got someone interviewing for a position.”

Languidly, the man lowered the newspaper to rest on his lap. She was briefly able to make out the front headline before it was hidden from view.

** _CHAOS GRIPS CITY COUNCIL AS-_ **

When her gaze returned to the sitting figure, she nearly backed away.

In her thirty-one years of living she could recount maybe a handful of people who immediately made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on edge. Usually, it was the eyes that gave it away. As cliché as the saying was, eyes really were the window to the soul. 

One glance at this man and she doubted he had one. Which was equal parts disturbing as it was intriguing. Even Joker had something going on behind the eyes. A flame that was committed to burning, even if it meant consuming everything and everyone in his path.

What lurked behind this man’s eyes was a deep absentness of spirit. Whatever ability he had to feel love or compassion for his fellow man had long ago been extinguished, most-likely by his own hand. Her intuition hastened out a warning: don’t catch his attention, keep eye contact at a minimum.

She obeyed without hesitation.

For a solid minute the man studied her wordlessly. By this point she concluded this to be Gil. What threw her for a curveball was how young he was; not even thirty by her estimation. She’d have figured Joker wanted someone more…_refined_ as his right-hand man. Not someone who looked like they modeled for Calvin Klein on the side.

Gil was equipped with a full head of combed back chestnut brown hair and a soft, round face with sharp, high cheekbones. The clash of harsh and soft gave him the sort of face one looked twice at just to admire. He was clean-shaven and clad in black leather pants and a long sleeve maroon shirt with a column of buttons near the chest (none of which were undone). His footwear looked to be the most expensive out of his ensemble; a pair of leather boots made from - by the looks of it - real alligator skin.

Though the lower part of him could be described as lanky, from the wide expanse of his shoulders she suspected it was his upper body that the bulk of his strength hid. It was unfortunate his eyes unnerved her so much because they were the lightest shade of hazel she’d ever seen, and the temptation was very much present to lose herself in them.

“I presume you are aware of who it is you are interviewing to work under.”

His voice was low and soothing, lulling her into a disorienting sense of security. She knew she wasn’t safe, but the man’s voice made her body involuntarily relax.

She let it. Posture was everything. She didn’t dare let on how uneasy he made her.

“Yeah,” she answered with a shrug. “Couldn’t be worse than Maroni. Guy never shut up about how expensive his suits were.”

Gil’s brows rose ever so slightly.

“Name?”

“Lonnie.”

Gil gestured at her carelessly.

The bald man started to frisk her, mercifully gliding over her chest area, but taking his sweet time around her crotch. His dedication to this region made her wish she’d had the hindsight to stick a carrot or potato in there to give Lonnie the illusion of…_girth_.

Just when she thought she was in the clear, he reached her ankle and pulled out the blade strapped there.

“You blame me?” was all she said, feigning indifference. “This city’s a fucking madhouse.”

Averting her gaze proved trickier than she’d anticipated. She longed to study Gil’s expression for validation. That he was receptive to the name and persona she embodied.

“It is,” he commented, resting his chin on his knuckles. “That’s a nice blade you have there. 154 CM Steel from the looks of it. Very expensive, not a beginner’s blade. How’d you come across it?”

Her heart stuttered a little. Did he recognize it from Joker’s collection?

“Same way anybody comes by things. Found it.”

She hung her head at this, staring at the floor, hoping the hint was obvious. She’d not attained the blade by legal means.

Gil gestured for the bald man to give him the knife. He examined it closely, twirling the handle before pressing the tip of the blade to his index finger. Blood immediately blossomed to the surface.

“Wastes no time. I appreciate that.”

He made no move to give it back to her. She tried not to think about how defenseless she truly was. How easily they could overpower her and really make her scream.

“Why Joker?” Gil asked, casually twirling the knife with one hand. “You have your pick of less risky employers. Employers that require less than he does.”

“Guy’s scary. People’ll know not to mess with me,” she remarked. “Pays decent too from what I hear.”

“Mmm…money is an attractive part of it, isn’t it?”

She deemed this a rhetorical question, so didn’t bother answering.

“Joker has a never-ending list of enemies wanting to get the jump on him for the right price. Clearly, money is a big draw. What’s to keep you from turning him over the moment the highest bidder writes you a better check?”

Stumped at how to answer, she risked making eye contact with Gil.

“If I wanted to work for the highest bidder, I’d be meeting with them, not you. Like I said…Joker’s a real psycho. Puts everyone in Gotham on edge. No one has that sorta power. Why wouldn’t I get in on that?”

Gil didn’t answer for a long moment, eyeing her with nothing short of neutrality. It made her slightly envious he was able to conduct himself in such a composed manner. She longed to mimic it but didn’t want him to think she considered herself on level footing with him.

“Why indeed,” he finally said. “I like you, Lonnie. You mind your business and know who’s in charge. That being said…there are two traits I ensure anyone I hire carries. Endurance and loyalty.”

Her arms were abruptly restrained behind her by the bald man.

Gil slowly moved to his feet, discarding his newspaper on the floor. He approached her until there was an arm’s distance between them.

Celine tried not to broadcast the panic she was internally experiencing. Her gut urged her to get the hell out of the room while she still could, but she was too committed now to turn back. She would just have to deal with whatever was in store for her.

There were a few tense seconds where no one moved. The man behind her was stiff as marble, Gil was busy analyzing her expression, and the man previously hunched over the desk had turned slightly to observe the proceedings.

In the blink of an eye Gil retracted his fist and punched her solidly across the face. For the second time in less than a month, her nose cracked a near ninety degrees. She had a second to gather her bearings before he struck her just as hard from the opposite direction, her head cracking to the side like a ragdoll.

This continued for the next five minutes. She’d attempt to straighten up and compose herself, only for another fist to launch at her face, knocking the oxygen out of her lungs. Blood wouldn’t stop oozing from a newly split lip. She had to cough it out or risk choking on it.

By the time Gil had thrown his last punch she was a bruised-up, barely conscious mess; body supported primarily by the man behind her. Blood obscured her vision and caked most of her face. Her cheek and jawbone throbbed fiercely; a nasty migraine was on its way.

Thankfully, the pain didn’t hang around for long. Numbness spread through her face not long after, allowing her to blink through the crimson and push herself up to her full height.

Her lips trembled, but she dared not say a word. Her heavy panting was the only sound audible in the room.

“Lonnie,” Gil spoke, clasping her shoulder and leaning down to her, “do you want your knife back?

She was sorely tempted to say no. He could keep the fucking thing for all she cared.

But she ended up nodding shakily. Oddly enough, she didn’t wish to part with Joker’s gift. She doubted he’d be happy to see it in the hands of someone it wasn’t meant for, and it wouldn’t do well to be weaponless around his men.

“Okay.” He slipped two fingers under her chin, tilting her head up to face his. “It kills me to have to give it back, but finders keepers, right? Though…I wouldn’t mind a souvenir. A reminder of how efficient that blade is. You don’t mind Lonnie, do you?”

Before she could shake her head, the bald man dragged her across the room to the desk. He threw her down by her bound wrists, her cheek slapping harshly against the wood, igniting a fierce pounding in her temples. A mixture of sweat and blood glued a few pieces of paper to her face.

There was a lung-crushing scream lodged in the back of her throat. Whatever was about to happen would not be something she enjoyed. But like the beating she’d endured earlier; it was necessary. Giving in now would make everything she’d experienced for nothing. That’s what she needed to focus on.

Gil wrestled her right hand out of the bald man’s grasp and slammed it down on the desk, so her palm was facing down and her fingers were splayed outward.

His breath tickled the side of her neck.

“I can tell you’ll be a good addition, Lonnie. Even if you’ll soon be lacking a little…_something_. But sometimes what makes us unique also makes us invaluable.”

She mustered just enough energy to peek at him through her damp hair, bottom lip quivering uncontrollably.

With a grin nothing short of malicious, Gil clamped one hand around her wrist. His opposite hand brought down the knife and settled the blade an inch above the knuckle to her pinky.

One minute she had five fingers, the next, he pushed down with all his might and a sharp snap later, she had four.

It didn’t sink in right away that she was short a digit. What felt like 50,000 Volts of electricity shot up her arm. Tears leaked from her eyes and a less than masculine sob burst out of her throat. Her remaining fingers twitched wildly beneath his grasp.

Gil merely retracted the blade and picked up her severed finger, eyeing it thoughtfully with a tilt of the head. He whistled lowly.

“You have the daintiest fingers I’ve ever seen on a man,” he noted. “Could have made a pretty penny or two giving hand jobs, but even that’s beneath a pansy like you, isn’t it?”

She lacked the ability to answer, eyes frozen on the space where her pinky used to be. Blood gushed from the wound; her quiet sobs amplifying as the cool air struck the raw, empty space. Her entire hand burned so badly she nearly preferred having it chopped off. Surges of nausea and dizziness were the only sensations keeping her mind off it.

As Gil continued speaking above her, she tuned him out.

_He sliced off my fucking finger. He slicked off my fuck-._

She willed away this train of thought and bit her lip to stifle another cry. As intense as the pain was, it wasn’t the worst she’d experienced. Close but not the worst.

It was a frequent topic of discussion between her and John on whether emotional pain trumped physical. Even now as she lay hunched over watching herself bleed out, she couldn’t help but think her mother’s death, Kathy’s suicide – the loss of her finger paled in comparison to either event. When the mind was consumed by loss of a corporeal, breathing human being; few forms of agony could substitute their place. The shock of seeing her pinky gone heightened the pain, but the loss had been quick and her attachment to her finger wasn’t nearly as potent as her attachment to those she loved that she’d lost along the way. It was her mind prioritizing pain, she figured. If she lingered on this current injury, she’d never be able to see beyond it.

Gil went on rambling above her and she mentally gave herself a bit of a bitch slap to focus back on reality. This bitch slap knocked loose a quote she’d read once by a Japanese philosopher whose name was forever lost to history books.

_“Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional.”_

Feel it. Feel it until there is nothing left to be felt. Don’t extend the pain beyond its use. Feel it and move on.

A shaky breath rattled out of her lungs. The ache in her hand had receded to the same dull throbbing in her face. She could deal with this. She just needed to shift her concentration on something not so serious.

Seconds later and she was laughing uncontrollably, body quaking beneath the hold both men had on her. She sounded deranged to her own ears, which only made her laugh harder.

Gil grabbed her by the hair and yanked backwards, invading her space with a displeased frown.

“Something amusing, Lonnie? Be a gentleman and share with the class.”

Her laughter gradually died down. She dared not tell him what prompted the fit.

_I’ll never be able to accurately do a Dr. Evil impression ever again._

Her lips wobbled, but she swallowed down any stray giggles. Slowly, she met his eyes.

“Does this mean I got the job?”

She must have asked this with more amusement than she’d meant to. Gil’s fingers tightened around her locks until her scalp burned.

“Yeah Lonnie, you got the job.”

He slammed her face-first into the desk, nearly knocking her out.

“Do that again and I’ll come back for the rest of your hand.”

The men released her at the same time. Her knees gave out and she slumped to the floor with a groan.

The next few minutes passed by in a blur. She was faintly aware of the bald man applying pressure from four or five layers of gauze to her wound before bandaging up her hand tight enough to deprive her of a bit more oxygen. At some point Gil attempted to give her back her knife, but her vision wove in and out too rapidly to accept it.

“Lonnie,” his voice floated above her, but in reality, his lips were brushed against her ear, “either take your god damn knife or I’ll shove it inside your ass and fuck you with it.”

She blindly extended her left hand for it, feeling a weight press into her palm a moment later.

The bald man had to assist her out of the room and down the stairs. She couldn’t tell if they’d passed anyone, only that she was loaded into the back seat of a van a few seconds later. The bald man hopped into the driver’s seat and tore out of the parking lot.

At some point he was relaying information to her, but it was a constant struggle to make sense of what he was saying. She thought he’d said someone would clean her up once they reached where Joker and his men were. She thought he spent a good minute cursing at her not to pass out as it’d leave a very bad first impression on her employer. She also thought there was a butterfly fluttering about in the van, though that one she chalked up to a hallucination.

Eventually, the bald man quieted down and focused on driving. This silence allowed her to work on her breathing, similar to the moments before she dove into a meditative state. Mind over matter, she encouraged herself. The hard part was hopefully over and done with. She needed to return her attention back to why she’d gone through all the trouble to begin with.

As the driver veered sharply to the left, she warily lifted her head a little from the floor. He couldn’t see her body fully from the angle and appeared much too enraptured with his surroundings to give her further thought.

With her unmutilated hand, she reached beneath her shirt and pulled out her cell phone. Her breathing was silent as she turned it back on, peeking up every couple of seconds to ensure she had the privacy needed.

She wasn’t naturally left-handed, so composing a text was a nerve-wracking experience. She feared the man would twist his head around at any moment and catch her red handed. Or would it be red handed if the phone was in her right?

** _Headin to Js locaton now_ **

It wasn’t her finest spelling, but John would hopefully gather that she didn’t have the luxury to text him comfortably.

Sometime after she’d tucked her phone back beneath her binding, she ended up passing out. It was only when someone slapped her across the face did she come to again.

“Wake the fuck up,” the bald man gruffed, bent over her cramped form. “You keep this shit up and boss will do worse to ya.”

She groggily pushed up, wincing as she did so. Everything hurt; even blinking. She focused on Sally’s handle gripped in her hand, and then on the evening sky behind the bald man. The wind brought with it the promise of more rain.

The bald man backed up so she could slide her body out of the van. Her first attempt at standing was unsuccessful. Her knees gave out and she nearly hurled out this morning’s breakfast from the sudden animation her body underwent.

_You need to get your shit together or you won’t live long enough to do what you came here to. Mind over matter. Focus on the goal._

She pushed herself up, teetering as she did so. The bald man didn’t say anything. Once she had regained her footing, he took off without a word. She followed after him, peeking around at the scrap yard they’d parked at, and then up at the looming, condemned structure they were approaching.

From John’s heads up, she gauged it was _The Braxton_ hotel they were nearing the back entrance of. It was an eight-story brownstone building that from a quick perusal looked to be dead silent. None of the windows held any light, most having been shattered out or invaded by cobwebs. A ‘Closed Until Further Notice’ sign hung crookedly on the glass doors to the back entrance.

The cool air helped her regain consciousness. Her steps were taken quicker and with more purpose. Her newest co-worker did little to ensure she kept up, other than a few annoyed glances back at her.

He paused at a metal door that read ‘Approved Personnel Only’ in blocky black letters. She stopped behind him just as he knocked three times with a balled-up fist.

They didn’t have to wait long for the door to part.

“New recruit,” the bald man muttered, gesturing at her with his head. “Gil had his fun, like he normally does. Ed needs to patch him up before he can start.”

They entered the building, her hot on his heels for fear of losing him. The man who had let them in led the way with the assistance of a flashlight. After a couple minutes of dimly lit meandering, he ushered them through a door and into a stairwell. She had to use the railing for support as they made their way to the third floor.

Once on the third, they navigated a few more hallways before stopping outside a door marked 3S. She couldn’t tell who knocked; more concerned with letting her eyes adjust to the darkness.

When the door creaked open, Celine’s eyes widened, and she backed up a step. She recognized the man standing on the other end and was briefly overcome with distress that he’d recognize her too. It was the same man Joker had had clean her up and tend to her wounds the first time they’d become acquainted with one another.

As the bald man relayed Gil’s treatment of her, she slowly relaxed, realizing she had nothing to worry about. The doctor scanned her up and down but failed to find her familiar. She didn’t know if it was courtesy of the gender swap or the bloodied and bruised state she was in.

The two men who had led her to the room moved aside to let her through. The door was closed behind her a second later. She hadn’t realized right away that the doctor was guiding her by the elbow to a dust-coated mattress. He pushed down on her shoulder to sit, and she did so without a fuss.

He spent a minute scurrying about the tight room for the ingredients he needed. A flickering bulb above was the only light source. Similarly, the only window in the room was boarded up.

When the doctor pulled up a chair to the bed, she turned to him.

“Did a number on you, eh?” he said, motioning for her hand.

She nodded lightly, giving him the limb. He unwrapped the bandages on her hand as delicately as possible, something she wanted to thank him for but didn’t; fearful it’d be too uncharacteristic of someone under Joker’s employment.

When he abruptly doused her wound with hydrogen peroxide, her body jerked away from him, attempting to yank her arm out of his grasp. Tears leaked from the corner of her eyelids.

He held fast until she calmed down, teeth sinking into her bottom lip to prevent a scream.

“Best I can do until we move back to headquarters,” he mumbled, patting with a clean cloth at the gaping hole where her pinky used to be. “I’d suck it up if I were you. Boss doesn’t like squealers. Not unless he’s the one making them squeal that is.”

She frowned at the suggestion, but ultimately knew he was right.

It’s just that…it was so…_hard_. Never had her physical body experienced such unanimous agony. Never had she wanted to pass out so badly and succumb to a year-long coma. Throughout her life she’d been sliced, punched, hit, scratched, bitten; certainly, no stranger to pain.

But this…this was testing her limits so far beyond what she’d ever felt. Yes, mind over matter, but fuck it all if it didn’t make her feel like crawling out of her own skin so she no longer carried the burden of being inside it.

At some point during her zoning out, the doctor had re-bandaged her hand nice and snug. To ensure the wound wouldn’t resume bleeding, he taped over the bandages a few times until the ache had dulled back down to a distant throb. She could move all her fingers except her ring finger, which was committed to holding its position in a stiff half-curl.

“For your sake,” the doctor – Ed - mentioned, thumb skimming down her crooked nasal bone, “I’ll sneak you some painkillers. Last thing you need is to pass out on the job. Might not wake back up.”

He was back at the bed with a bottled water and four pills. She didn’t bother asking any questions. If the pills made the pain tolerable, more power to them.

“You’ve had your nose broken before. Recently from what it felt like.”

She swallowed back the pills and stared resolutely at her feet.

“Cousin and I got into it over a girl,” she mumbled carefully. “I won; she chose him.”

He didn’t say anything else as he worked on repositioning her nose. As he did so, she could feel his eyes on her. She wondered if it didn’t spark a bit of déjà vu in him.

“Know what I’ll be doing tonight?” she asked in hopes of deviating him from forming any suspicions.

“You been keeping up with the news?”

Just as she made to answer, he moved her nasal bone up and to the left. Blood spewed out of her nostrils seconds later. The doctor briefly abandoned his spot at the bed and returned with a bowl of water and a clean white cloth. He sat the bowl in between her legs and offered her the cloth.

“You look like hell,” was his only explanation.

She accepted the cloth and soaked it in cold water.

“Joker’s got some kids held hostage or something?”

She brought the cloth up to her face and as gently as possible, began to wipe the dried blood, snot, and grime off her.

“Or something,” he agreed, leaning back in his chair. “Usually, he wouldn’t assign new guys something so important so soon, but he’s been short on help recently.”

_Because he kills them. Or they kill themselves, _she wanted to add.

“You’ll be watching those kids until that last councilman is killed.”

Her hands froze just as she was wiping her nose clean.

“They got another one?” she asked with as much nonchalance as possible.

“Mhm…him and his youngest kid. Mayor declared martial law about an hour ago. Police can’t house all the people they keep picking up. Boss is in real good spirits about it.”

_I bet he is._

She resumed cleaning her face, trying hard not to frown. Her heart went out to Millburn’s child. He never asked to be a part of this. Or to have a father who endangered his son’s welfare with his own behavior. Disgust and contempt for Joker’s actions, however indirectly, made her stomach churn and sizzle. It was as if she were viewing him for the first time since he’d lasso’d her into the chaos that was his life. He wasn’t redeemable, and even though she’d just a few nights ago listened to it beating against her ear, she doubted he had a heart. And if he did, a charred, blackened coal fueled it.

Anger overwhelmed her so suddenly she had to stop her washing to get ahold of herself.

_Stupid. STUPID. STUPID STUPID STUPID. If I would’ve just called Bruce and handed Joker over, none of this would have happened. Millburn’s son would still be alive. I wouldn’t be sitting here trying to justify why I was so hospitable to an unrepentant psychopath. Why I let him into my be-._

Squeezing her eyes shut, Celine forced her hand to work on autopilot, scrubbing the rest of her face clean until only hastily forming bruises remained. In retrospect, this anger was good. It was _helpful_. It made her see beyond the pain.

She and Jac-_Joker_ were not on the same side. No matter how easily they seemed to get along, the reality was he would always have an agenda that benefited himself first and foremost. And that agenda would always go against her moral and ethical values. She needed to get that into her head before she went and did something that couldn’t be so easily undone.

_There is no room for guilt right now. The best way to fix this is to act. _

She ignored the gaze trained on her and handed the doctor back the sullied cloth.

“I’m ready.”

He collected the murky bowl of water and stood.

“Give me a second to call someone up.”

As he disappeared back into the shadows, she looked down at Sally clutched in her left hand. Her fingers were wrapped so tightly around the handle they were white.

_If I get a chance to use it…if I’m close enough to him…I could catch him off guard and-._

She didn’t know why finishing this thought caused so much compression in her chest. Like an accordion was pressing into her organs, causing them to elbow against one another. Even her eyes had a difficult time not watering up.

_Why? He’d kill me in a heartbeat if it suited his plans. I need to cut loose whatever attachments I have to him, however harmless. Otherwise, I’m sealing my own fate. _

By the time a knock sounded on room 3S, Celine was in a much more comfortable headspace. The painkillers were beginning to kick in, she was nearly at peace with the loss of her favorite pinky, and those kids would be leaving with her even if she had to carry them individually over her shoulder while John’s serum launched every one of Joker’s men into a rabid delirium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could you imagine never being able to do an accurate Dr Evil impression ever again?!? :O  
A pinky lost is an ally earned? A worse sadist than Joker exists?? Question marks???


	13. Chapter 13

The man who knocked on door 3S was not one she recalled meeting. One glance at his gaunt-like features – namely the sunken in cheeks and bony body – and she knew he was a heroin addict. From the jitteriness of his movements, she gathered he’d gotten his fix recently. Whether that would aid her or not, only time would tell.

Ed did little to hide his displeasure, muttering under his breath something she couldn’t make out. It nearly had her smiling.

Before she left, she turned to the doctor and mumbled a barely audible ‘thank you’. Uncharacteristic or not, gratitude was something difficult to banish from her person. The man had bandaged her up on more than one occasion. She thought she owed him that much at least.

The addict was practically hopping through the hallways and down the staircase, pausing every so often for her to catch up, drumming his fingers against his body as he did so. She was half-tempted to grab the pistol he so openly displayed inside his waistband but figured that might be tipping her hand a little early.

Four flights of stairs and three left turns later they were entering an expansive wine cellar that was so congested with dust she had to cough a few times to clear out her lungs. 

Whatever wine that’d been stored on the countless racks had long ago been looted or smashed. A hint of wet, moldy grapes lingered in the air. Though most of the cellar was shrouded in darkness, the further in they went, the brighter it got. A massive, brick wall sat at the opposite end of the cellar with two fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above. The wall held a door, but someone was standing guard at it.

“Howie,” her companion greeted, sniffing twice, “new recruit for you. Look what Gil did!”

He grabbed her right hand and lifted it to show him.

“Sliced his pinky clean off. Glad I kept my mouth shut during orientation. Ahahahaaha.”

The guard – Howie – joined in on the laughter, though it sounded a lot more solemn that the addicts’.

“Show us through, show us through,” he repeated with a wave of his hands before turning to her. “Uh…what’s the name?”

“Lonnie.”

“Lonnie’s gotta learn the ropes. Can’t be slacking on the training, boss man will be pissed.”

She briefly met Howie’s eyes. Recognition dawned on her. He’d been the one to ask her in the church why some people were lucky enough to experience miracles and others weren’t.

If Howie was bothered by her staring, he didn’t show it. He stepped aside to let them through.

When the addict opened the door, all the air momentarily escaped Celine’s lungs.

It was as if she was viewing the room through the lens of Joker’s camcorder. The brick was faded and worn; untouched by renovation. Another fluorescent light buzzed from the ceiling, casting everyone inside under an artificial luminescence. What she had been wrong on was the boarded-up window. There weren’t any in the room, period; providing an added layer of claustrophobia.

The room itself must have served as an added extension to the initial wine cellar. It was approximately the size of her high school gym and extremely chilly.

As the addict spoke, Celine concentrated her gaze on the right corner of the room. Just as Joker had broadcasted to Gotham, there, huddled and seated, blind-folded and gagged, were the sixty-some kids everyone was tearing the city apart trying to find.

On the left side of the room were three more of Joker’s men, each equipped with a pistol, though not aiming at anyone in particular, which relieved her some. They studied her boredly, one going so far as to yawn into his palm. They’d probably not moved from their position for hours.

She felt something being shoved into her stomach by the addict. When she looked down it was the same gun she’d been observing on the men.

“If any of them try something,” the addict said, “shoot them in the kneecap.”

She nodded, accepting the gun and slipping it into the back of her sweats.

“I’m surprised there aren’t more of us,” she mentioned, surveying the room.

“The rest are either keeping guard outside or out in the scrap yard with boss. I guess Scarecrow’s come out of hiding and he’s leaving those staying behind, instructions on what to do while he’s away.”

“That must be very exciting for Jo-I mean _boss_.”

The word felt foreign to say, but she’d use the title to avoid singling herself out.

“He said it’s like Christmas came early.”

She had planned to say something else, but a high-pitched whistle interrupted her. The addict opened the door to the room and peered out at the entrance to the cellar.

Celine peeked around his shoulder and immediately backed up a few steps. One hand shot to her hair and brushed a few locks over her face. She could just barely see through them.

Her heart pumped madly as Joker’s footsteps echoed off the walls of the cellar. She made sure to keep herself obscured behind the addict, gripping her gun tight to prevent her hand from shaking.

When Joker’s footsteps finally stopped, she risked a glance around the addict’s shoulder.

It felt surreal viewing him from her position. He had just been inside her apartment a couple of days ago, curled up against her. Docile and sleepy. Was he really the same man standing before her, immaculately clad in his signature purple coat and leather gloves, wearing the sort of smile that instilled dread?

“Howie,” he spoke, startling her out of her observation as he clamped a hand on the guard’s shoulder, “saddle up and look alive! Ace here’s gonna take over for ya. ‘M gonna need my best shooters with me to capture the Crow.”

Her heart nearly dropped out of her chest upon witnessing Aesop step up to Joker’s side. His features were stony and grave; a complete contradiction to how he behaved when it was just the two of them conversing.

She hung her head down and side-stepped back behind the addict. An urge pestered her to get Aesop’s attention, but she ignored it. She just needed to be a little more patient.

Joker’s next words were aimed at the addict in front of her. The tone in which he spoke chilled her.

“And what uh what’d I tell ya about using on the job?”

The addict’s shoulders stiffened. If silence could crush, they would all be fine dust on the floor.

“I wasn’t boss, I swea-.”

A bullet ripped into his throat. Clutching feebly at the wound, he gurgled and choked back a cry before dropping to the ground and falling onto his stomach. His body continued to convulse as he bled out.

Some of the children must have gathered what had happened, for their voices grew more hysterical behind their gags.

Joker lowered his gun and cracked his neck.

“That’s what I get for being such a generous guy,” he lamented lazily, drawing his gaze upward. “And uh _whoooo’ve_ we got here?”

She didn’t remove her eyes from the addict’s dead body. Something told her all Joker needed was one close look and he’d know.

“New recruit,” Howie informed above her. “First night.”

His whistle was long and drawn out. Mercifully, he remained in his spot, studying her bruised face.

“Musta really struck a nerve with Gil, eh? No hard feelings, champ, he’s uh…_picky_ anymore on who works for me. Can’t say it doesn’t make a guy feel appreciated.”

She didn’t speak, which did little to damper Joker’s mood.

“Ace,” he turned to the man, “hold the fort down for me, will ya? If uh anything unforeseen happens, handle it at your own _discretion_.”

Aesop nodded. 

“Sure thing, boss.”

Joker departed with Howie in tow. She released a held-in breath as their footsteps clambered up the stairs.

“Boss won’t be more than an hour,” Aesop stated for everyone to hear. “If I catch any of you slacking while he’s gone, consider your position terminated.”

Her eyes widened slightly at the words. Did he mean what she thought he meant? Could he really kill someone on the spot without batting an eye?

_Probably. He’s worked for Joker how long? No one employed by him has clean hands._

“New guy.” She looked up. “C’mere.”

She did so, following him out of the room. Beneath the harsh fluorescent lighting Aesop took the time to observe her better.

“Got a name?” he asked, quieter so the kids wouldn’t overhear.

“Lonnie,” she answered, making eye contact with him, curious to see how long she could maintain her facade. “You?”

“You can call me Ace.” He was studying the bruises blossoming around her cheeks and jawline. “How much pain you in? I can’t have you distracted from your shift.”

“Ed snuck me painkillers,” she divulged. “It’s bearable.”

He nodded, looking past her.

“Job is self-explanatory,” he said. “Watch them, make sure they don’t do something stupid. If they do, you’re welcome to wound them. Wound, don’t kill. Otherwise, this’ll be your last night alive. Boss’s directions are to be adhered to without question, got it?”

“Got it,” she murmured, voice returning slightly to her normal one.

_Good grief I’ve lost count of the times he’s looked me in the eyes. Either he’s blind or I really look that awful. _

“Um…we’re just gonna leave that guy he killed in there?” she asked tentatively.

Aesop shrugged.

“Boss never said to take the body out.”

Her nose crinkled at this. His body was probably beginning to decompose already. It would not be smelling pretty in there shortly.

“Now get back in there.” He gestured at the room with his head. “Knock if you need a piss break.”

Her feet remained firmly planted in her spot.

“You fucking deaf?” Aesop snapped. “Get movin’.”

She continued staring at him, willing him to recognize her without her having to say something.

Frustrated at her lack of taking direction, Aesop shot out his arm and backhanded her across the cheek, reigniting the throbbing in her bruised flesh.

“Ow! Christ, Aesop, am I going to have to spell it out for you?”

She didn’t bother disguising her voice.

Aesop stilled, all aggression vacating his body. Swiftly, he grasped her by the chin and tilted her head up, pulling her toward him.

“Celine?” he whispered.

His wide-eyed expression would have been comical if not for how painful his strike had been.

She massaged the area he’d hit her.

“In the flesh. You are not a very patient co-worker by the way.”

He scanned her from head to toe before dropping his hand and hustling to the door behind her.

“You guys hang tight, I’m going to go over a few ground rules with the recruit,” he told the three guards inside the room.

He hastily shut the door and turned to her. Now, he was looking more like the Aesop she knew.

“You-you’re actually here,” he stuttered out, shaking his head. “I thought-I knew something was up with your questions. But I didn’t think you’d actually-.”

His eyes grew wider. Within seconds he was in front of her, cradling the hand that clasped her cheek.

“Fuck, I am so sorry,” he blurted. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“I didn’t think it’d take you so long to recognize me,” she admitted.

He again shook his head. His hand suddenly tightened on hers.

“Gil did this?”

She swallowed down the lump in her throat.

“Oh sweetheart…”

He gently took her bandaged hand, eyes falling to the missing digit on it.

His expression made her want to cry. Very few people had ever gazed at her so softly, so compassionately. She let him pull her in for a tight hug, one of his hands resting on her back to stroke it.

“I thought Joker had control issues,” she mumbled against his chest. “Gil is worse. But I get why Joker leaves the hiring to him. He makes sure everyone is too scared shitless to step out of line.”

He rested his cheek atop her head, slowing his movements.

“He is worse,” Aesop agreed. “I’m sorry you had to personally experience just how much. Are you alright?”

She pulled back from him to look up.

“As alright as I’m capable of being, given the circumstances. I was on the verge of shitting myself when Joker came down with you. I’d um…had hoped he was on his way to John’s location.”

His eyebrows rose.

“You guys planned that?”

“Yeah. John is going to use his serum on them, so that hopefully buys me some time.”

Aesop seemed perplexed.

“You’re fine with Scarecrow using his toxin on Joker?”

His confusion made her frown.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

She could tell he was debating whether to say what was on his mind or not.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she repeated.

“Well…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I just thought you two…he and you…you and him…”

Her sigh erupted from deep in her belly.

“He’s made Gotham implode in on itself and threatened to execute a bunch of innocent kids if his demand isn’t met. He deserves to feel every bit as much fear as those council members are feeling the longer their kids are withheld from them. It’s a no-brainer.”

Aesop grimaced.

“You’re right.” His shoulders slumped. “I guess I was mistaken in thinking you were a good influence on him.”

“You were.” She didn’t care to linger on this train of thought longer than needed. “Is the bus driver still alive?”

Aesop’s grimace deepened.

“Killed shortly after he got them here. Body was dumped in a nearby river.”

“Shit.” She closed her eyes and ran her left hand through her hair. “You don’t happen to know if the keys to the bus were on him, do you?”

Aesop surprised her by smiling and crossing his arms.

“You know you really did make me suspicious with asking about Gil and if the bus was still here. I didn’t know what your plan was, only that you were trying to be proactive in some way. Before the body was disposed of, I uh-.”

He reached into the front of his jeans’ pocket and withdrew a metal ring with two keys on it.

“-I took them.”

Her mouth dropped open. Slowly, she extended her hand. Aesop set them in her palm.

“I-.” She wrapped her fingers around the keys. “I have to get those kids on the bus before Joker returns.”

She gauged his expression, a part of her fearing he’d not allow it. After all, he appeared to be in charge until Joker returned. There was no doubt he’d be killed for letting them escape.

“I know you do,” he said. “And you’re going to need my help doing it.”

“Not if it puts your life on the line.”

He shook his head, scratching at his sideburns.

“I don’t know what you’ve done to me, but I’ve not been the same since meeting you.” His smile was sad. “There’s a voice I stifled long ago that helped me determine right from wrong. I thought I had snubbed it out of existence. Turns out it was just waiting for someone like you to give it back its strength.”

She was touched by this admission.

“I was guarding this door last night,” he went on, “and I got to thinking…say that the two days pass and the councilmen are still alive. What then? Am I at peace with standing by while Joker kills those kids? Can I sleep at night if he asked me to help? And I don’t know…it was like finally reaching a long overdue epiphany. I’m not yet a monster…if I stay by Joker’s side and he harms them…I will be. There won’t be going back from it.”

He blew out a deep breath, nodding to himself.

“I’m going to help you do the right thing because…I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t. Though…I am going to need a favor.”

“Anything,” she answered, taking a step toward him. “Name it and it’s yours.”

“You’re friends with Bruce Wayne, who has powerful connections.” He shifted a little in place. “Joker won’t take my desertion lightly. He will want to make an example out of me. If it’s at all possible for him to…I don’t know…get me in contact with someone from witness protection…I’d rest a little easier.”

“I will do everything in my power to ensure you’re protected,” she promised. “Are…not that I’m ungrateful…but are you sure you want to go through with this? I don’t want to make you feel like you’re obliged to me in any way.”

His smile was crooked.

“Look at you,” he said, scanning her up and down. “You put yourself through hell to be here…all for the sake of doing the right thing. What’s my excuse?”

She mimicked his smile, caught between a sudden desire to cry and a persistent need to wrap Aesop up in her arms and never let go.

“Thank you,” she settled on, remembering time was of the essence. “So…any ideas on how we’re going to go about this?”

His smile widened.

“Oh yes. Like I said, I suspected you had something up your sleeve. I’ve got something up mine too.”

***

John released a stream of curses under his breath. It had all been going so _beautifully_.

Like a lamb being led to slaughter, he’d managed to lure Joker and fifteen of his goons deep into the empty warehouse just a mile north of Celine’s location. The occasional scampering rat was his only companion. His breathing had spiked watching them trickle in from a metal stairway above them. He was giddy with anticipation, having to restrain his right hand from tossing his newest serum prematurely.

Joker located him first and went on and on and on (_and on_) about what he planned to do to him as punishment for his alleged betrayal. John had tuned out most of the yammering until the clown finally ran out of threats to administer.

“If we’re quite finished,” he’d said, standing, “you may be interested to learn that I’ve discovered the Bat Man’s real identity. If you swear upon a truce, I’m more than willing to share.”

He wasn’t sure if Joker fully believed him, but he was apparently curious enough to agree to the truce. A truce John didn’t think genuine but didn’t mind so much because even if it was real, inevitably, they’d end up at each other’s throats again. Such was the nature of their relationship.

“And uh pray _tell_, who is the Bat **_Man_**?” Joker inquired, eyes glowing in anticipation.

“Bruce Wayne,” he revealed loud enough for the answer to echo off the walls.

A few of his men chuckled at this. Joker wasn’t one of them. He seemed contemplative.

Personally, John had no clue if he was right or not. He’d given it some serious thought after Celine had woven him into her plan. She spent an obscene amount of time with the playboy, which got on his nerves, but he never let on as he didn’t want to destroy the only meaningful friendship he’d formed.

That being said it wasn’t like Celine to waste her energy on shallow, arrogant, ungrateful people. Which meant there was something about Bruce Wayne he wasn’t seeing. Some evidence of goodness that drew Celine to him. Sure, it could have been gratitude on her end for his investment into her app. But if it was gratitude alone, they wouldn’t be spending nearly as much time together as they did, taking to partaking in remedial things like eating out or embarking on a stroll around Gotham.

Was Bruce Wayne _Batman_? John couldn’t be sure. But he planned to find out the next time he saw Celine. He knew her expressions like the back of his hand. She wouldn’t be able to keep the truth from him for long.

At some point one of Joker’s men got a little trigger happy and took a shot in his direction. The bullet grazed his shoulder. When he looked back at them, it was with a manic grin.

There was little they could do as he pulled the pin from the cannister and tossed it down at them. Just as quickly he pulled out his mask to prevent inhalation.

The screams were magnificent to behold. The sweetest orchestra to his ears. Gun shots rang out not shortly after. Most were aiming at each other, but he was delighted to see two had ended up taking their own lives. As the toxin seeped in, he began to take notes in a pocket-sized notebook he’d brought with him.

His amusement faded somewhat upon noticing Joker cradling his stomach on the ground as his men picked each other off one by one. From his angle, it looked like his shoulders were shaking.

Intrigued and frustrated by the reaction, John ambled down the stairs. By this point, every one of his men were either dead, or dying; bodies riddled with bullets.

He knelt next to Joker, cocking his head to the side. Ignoring the shrieks of those still living, John began to write.

_Subject appears to be laughing? Similar to Celine's reaction when testing Batch No. #11. _

It had been the second to last serum before his then perfected version. It had also been the first time Celine hadn’t reacted with fear. He had never told her this before, but his first reaction upon witnessing her banshee-like laughter was concern that he might have accidentally driven her insane.

“Oooh hee hee ha ha,” Joker wheezed, clutching his ribs and pounding a fist on the floor. “This here’s a good one, Doc. Gimme more, _gimme more_!”

John ran a hand through his hair and huffed out a sigh.

“Are you capable of having a normal reaction to anything at all?” he muttered.

Joker continued giggling, shifting on to his side so he could observe John. His pupils were blown up and tears had involuntary leaked from the corners of his eyes, smudging some of his paint.

“_Nooooooo**pe**_,” he boasted. “Must ah…must kill ya to work _so_ hard, _so_ diligently, just to fail when it’s time t’a perform. There’s ah…there’s pills I could recommend for ya.”

John gritted his teeth. He took his work very seriously and regrettably; the clown knew exactly what to say to get under his skin.

“It must kill _you_ to know you will never be good enough for Celine Harlow,” John diverted coolly. “Neither will I, but at least I’ve accepted it. You are in denial. In case it has slipped your mind, I will remind you. She would not choose you if you were the last soul on this planet. She would not choose you if it meant bringing world peace. She would not choose you-.”

Joker attempted to grab at him, features contorted into a snarl. John backed away a few feet, delighted at the response.

“You are far more transparent than you think,” he continued from above, grinning beneath his mask. “I know what you’re hoping for. If she can love and accept someone like me, why not someone like you too, right? You’ve become obsessed with the possibility that she could overlook how many people you’ve killed. That she could overlook the violent outbursts and sadistic tendencies. That she could overlook your potential execution of a group of children. It’s a romantic fancy, but not a realistic one. Celine Harlow belongs to the Bruce Waynes of the world. Whomever she ends up with will be better than you. In all the ways she needs. There’s no point in deceiving yourself any further. As a licensed psychologist and former practitioner, I suggest, for your own wellbeing, you accept it and leave her be.”

He could see Joker was barely restraining the urge to lunge out at him. His whole body quivered with suppressed rage. His bottom lip was bleeding from the grip his teeth had on it.

From a scan of his expression, John suspected he’d been fairly accurate in his assessment. He allowed surprise to show beneath his mask. His attachment to Celine was far more complex than he’d previously diagnosed. Rather than dissuading Joker, however, John got the distinct impression he’d only re-strengthened Joker’s focus on her. It was probably best to change the topic before he made things worse for his friend.

“Ah, I’ve nearly forgotten.” He reached into his back pocket and retrieved a knife. “I believe you told me to return this to you when it wasn’t in me.”

Just as he knelt, Joker swiped his foot out and knocked him off balance. The knife slipped from his fingers. Joker was on top of it in seconds, bouncing off his palms to stand.

Sensing he was about to be at a disadvantage, John scrambled to his feet and scurried backwards. He patted his back for his gun and swore upon finding nothing. He’d stupidly left it on top of the stairs after releasing the cannister.

Joker tossed the knife back and forth between his hands, lapping at his scars. An occasional laugh would burst from him; aftereffects of the serum. The sound made John very jumpy.

Damn it all to hell, it’d all been going so _beautifully_.

“That uh…wasn’t very nice to psychoanalyze a clown when they’re down.” He pointed the tip of the blade at him and began gesturing with it. “Personally, I ah…I think you’re _jealous_. And I don’t blame ya **_one_** bi**_t_**; I _detest_ sharing her. She’s the sorta gal ya lock away so no one else can ruin her except you. But I don’t think she would take kindly to that, _soooo _I ah I guess I gotta learn t’a share. Got a bit of a learning curve, _heh_, I was an only child, no other sibling to steal away the attention. Rest assured, _Doc_, she’s going to end up with me one way or another. Fate is funny like that; it favors the catalyst. Aha_haha_…”

John frowned. Perhaps he shouldn’t have tried provoking him. It seemed to only reinforce the delusion that Celine could be his. Then again, the psychoanalyst in him was intrigued to be getting such an intimate glimpse into Joker’s psyche; something the doctors at Arkham could only dream of publishing an essay about.

“Now.” Joker had been steadily approaching as John shuffled backwards. “You’ve uh had _your_ playtime. Time to have _mine_.”

Just as John readied himself to sprint up the stairs, a buzzing vibrated from Joker’s pocket. A second later and his ring tone blared.

_“I got something to say  
I killed your baby today  
And it doesn’t matter much to me  
As long as it’s dead-”_

Joker raised his left hand and stuck up his index finger.

“Hang on a sec there Doc. Might-ah be something important.” His voice lowered to a murmur. “_For their sake_.”

Remarkably, John found himself staying put. It never ceased to amaze him how much Joker relied on speaking with his body, and how the near franticness with which he moved could enforce the behavior he desired from others.

As Joker answered the call, John worked on tiptoeing backwards.

“He said I ordered him to do _what_?”

Whatever playful mood he’d been in vanished in an instant. Something dangerous loomed in his expression. He didn’t envy the guy on the other line relaying the information.

Though John couldn’t hear it, the person conversing with Joker repeated what they’d just said.

_“Aesop said you gave the order for him and the new recruit to start loading the kids back onto the bus. He said our location was compromised and you had run into a bit of trouble with Crow. Just wanted to call to confirm. They’re getting the last batch on. We’re supposed to meet up back at HQ?”_

Joker twitched so violently John was briefly concerned he was exhibiting warning signs of an epileptic seizure. 

“I authorized no _such_ **_thing_**. Get the brats back in the cellar and keep Ace and the recruit for me ‘til I arrive. No one touches them but me, got it?”

John grinned beneath his mask. It was always pleasing to witness someone get a one up on the clown. Similarly, once he learned of Celine’s involvement, he doubted he would be as taken with her as he claimed to be.

Joker hung up the phone and finally dropped his hand.

“_Raincheck_, Johnny. Daddy can’t leave house for an hour without the kiddies acting up.” He sighed dramatically. “Disciplining them is a _thankless_ task, but somebody’s gotta do it.”

He shrugged to himself before sauntering away.

John watched him go, satisfied overall with how events had transpired. He finally had a firsthand account of what this newest serum was capable of. The results were encouraging, though he would need to do some theorizing on why Joker not only seemed immune to the serum’s intended effects but shared a similar response to one of Celine’s later trials.

All considerations for tomorrow. Tonight, he would take a well-earned, well-needed rest.

***

They had just gotten the last of the sixty-some children seated when a bullet sailed through one of the bus windows and exited out another one.

“Get down!” Celine shouted.

The packed vehicle of kids did as she said, finally free of their bonds.

Aesop was on his knees at the front of the vehicle, attempting to snatch the lever to close the doors. His latest lunge was successful, and the doors slammed shut with a muffled squeak.

More bullets soared through the glass above them, never straying beneath the window. Which meant the order wasn’t to kill everyone on board, but most likely provoke them into messing up and then capturing them.

Aesop dove into the driver’s seat and shoved the keys into the ignition, starting the bus. He kept his body tilted forward to avoid the shower of bullets.

Celine knew what she had to do. He would never be able to steer them out of this assault without crashing. Because they were out in the scrap yard, she felt less guilt for her actions. In an uncontained area with access to fresh air, they stood a much better chance of handling themselves.

Just as Aesop hit the pedal, she crawled on her elbows to the back of the bus, assisted by the sudden force of the bus jerking forward. When she’d reached the emergency door, she used the backs of the seats to pull her body up. Aesop abruptly veered around a pile of disassembled tractor parts, sending her body soaring into the opposite seat, skull striking the window.

“Sorry!” Aesop yelled back at her, glancing through the rearview mirror every other second.

She tried to regain her footing, head pounding at the collision. Cosmos help her, she could not wait for this day to be over.

The further they distanced themselves, the lower the bullets were aimed. They were now committed to spearing through the bus’s tires.

Celine knelt despite the erratic bouncing, steadying herself on the handle of the emergency exit with her left hand. Her pinky-less one slipped under her shirt and snatched John’s cannister. It felt slightly larger than the last time she held it.

“STOP!”

Aesop peeked at her to make sure he’d heard correctly before abruptly hitting the breaks. She’d have been propelled forward like everyone else had she not been clutching the handle for dear life. A unanimous groan sounded throughout the bus. She would personally handwrite them each an apology note for that one.

Yelling could soon be heard as men sprinted toward their stationary location, less concerned about shooting and more about gaining ground. She rose a little and glanced out the exit window, lips quirking at the stampede of angry former co-workers. Shame. She’d never quit a job before this one.

When they weren’t but fifty yards away, Celine pushed down on the door handle, cracking it open halfway. She quickly bit off the pin to the cannister and with a strong flick of the wrist, threw it as far as she could in the direction of the herd behind them.

“GO! GO!”

Aesop had been watching the whole thing. Her second ‘GO!’ startled him out of his trance. It gave her enough time to shut the door and witness the cannister spew out gas every which direction. Quite soon she could only make out the outlines of bodies.

The bus jerked forward and once again Celine struck the emergency door from the force. She wouldn’t be surprised if she’d sustained a concussion sometime throughout the day.

With Joker’s men being left behind to deal with John’s toxin, Aesop was able to properly focus on driving, weaving his way around piles of junk toward one of the yard’s multiple exits.

They had just reached a path that would merge them onto a main road when something zoomed past them and struck a pile of car fenders just ahead to their left. She covered her eyes as an explosion tore through the air, igniting the night sky and sending fiery bits of plastic and metal to reign down on them.

She thought she heard Aesop yelling at everyone to hold tight as he pressed down on the accelerator.

She was still reeling from seeing car parts get blown up from such a close distance. What had that been? A missile launcher? A bazooka? Who would have the audacity to-?

Groaning, she leaned her back against the exit door and closed her eyes. Who else?

_Gives a new meaning to being fired, _she thought wryly.

At some point Aesop had successfully steered them onto the main road. How far along they went, she couldn’t be sure. Her headache made it so she could think of nothing else but the pounding. Her bandaged hand was beginning to burn from overexertion. And the bruises on her face decided to wake back up.

She ended up slumping into a fetal position and passing out just as they exited the Narrows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joker's ring tone is Last Caress by The Misfits. I was tempted to do something...sillier...but figured he'd love the lyrics to this song. And I def see him appreciating 70s/80s Punk.  
Our bby girl was so brave, let's hope that bravery can withstand Joker finding out to what extent she was involved in the rescue. !!


	14. Chapter 14

When Celine finally came to, it was done so with the utmost reluctance. She had been at peace, floating endlessly in a dark abyss, liberated of a physical body. No one could hurt her, no one could touch her; reality was a non-existent concept. A boogeyman of the mind. She wanted no part of it, content with being bodiless and eternal.

But alas, that peace was not meant to last.

Her eyes fluttered open, pockets of light invading her corneas. The slightest facial twitch had her retreating back into the darkness. Why did it hurt so much to form emotions on her face? Why did it ache every time she swallowed?

A room swam into view as she cracked both eyes open again. She was surrounded by a rainbow of colors; melting into each other without end. No, not a rainbow. _Flowers_. She was surrounded by flowers.

Five vases rested in her immediate view, carrying an assortment of daisies, tulips, lilacs, roses, and a stemmy black and orange fella she couldn’t identify.

As her eyes adjusted, she located more vases near the foot of her bed. She couldn’t count them all, there were so many. Pinks, fuchsias, lavenders, crimsons…had she woken up to her own funeral?

Her head twisted in the opposite direction. Beeping monitors greeted her as well as a needle from IV that ran into a vein in her right arm. She groggily gathered she was at the hospital. It took a minute to recall why.

Tentatively, her eyes traveled down to her right hand. It’d been re-bandaged from Ed’s previous effort. Properly this time. And snug enough that she miraculously felt no pain, though she attested this to being pumped full of painkillers.

She tried wiggling the fingers of her bandaged hand, grimacing when they cramped up on her.

A loud snore tore her focus up to the individual attempting to slumber in a chair far too small for him.

Bruce’s head was propped against a palm, body tucked into itself, long legs spilling over the edge of the chair. His hair was messy and askew. He was outfitted in a long-sleeved gray t-shirt and a pair of festive red and silver plaid pajama bottoms that she’d gotten for him last Christmas. Her heart warmed at seeing him in them, fully convinced she never would.

Another snore traveled from his parted lips. She was content to watch him, but her bladder had other plans.

Taking a deep breath, she worked on propping herself up. A low moan fled her lips as her muscles and joints stirred from slumber. She winced at the stiffness in her body, and then winced again as her face throbbed in retaliation of her movements.

“Celine?”

She turned to Bruce, who was moving to his feet.

“Bathroom,” she voiced hoarsely.

He removed the needle from her vein as delicately as possible. One arm extended toward her. She wrapped her right one around his shoulder, letting his hand settle on her back. Carefully, they maneuvered her to the edge of the bed. She lifted her legs and set her feet on the cold tile floor.

“Take your time,” he said, keeping a tight grip on her. “You’ve been asleep for two days. Your legs need to remember how to move.”

“Two days?” she repeated, brows furrowing.

He nodded.

She attempted to stand, but immediately fell back into the bed. Bruce’s arm ensured she wouldn’t be meeting the floor anytime soon.

Her next attempt went a little more successfully. She teetered in place, using Bruce’s arm as an iron bar of support. The muscles in her calves ached beneath her weight.

“Why do I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus?”

Bruce’s lips twitched.

“Probably because you look it.”

She scowled at him, but there wasn’t any real malice behind it.

Slowly she made her way to the bathroom, Bruce’s hand glued to her lower back.

“I got it,” she said.

He released her.

She closed the door and went to the toilet. Not wishing to aggravate her right hand any, she worked on shimmying out of her panties with the assistance of her left. Once she was properly relieved, she washed her left hand and risked a glimpse in the mirror.

“Crucifix on a cracker,” she mumbled.

Bruce hadn’t been kidding, she looked as battered as she felt. Maroon and dark purple bruises cradled her cheeks. Her split lip was crusted over with blood. One eye was puffier than the other, forcing her eyelid into a half squint. Her jawline was scattered with dark tan splotches and her nose had been bandaged over, though there was a distinct crookedness to it that made her wonder if it wouldn’t be permanent.

Whomever cleaned her up had ridden her of the facial hair Stephanie glued to her face, causing the bruises to radiate against her skin. Her black hair was slick with grease and matted with tangles. A shower was definitely in the forecast. 

She poured some water into her left palm and worked on wiping down her face; the coldness helping lull her back into a conscious state. She also drank a few handfuls just to moisturize her scratchy throat.

When she opened the door, Bruce was hovering near the chair, typing out a text on his phone. He looked up and pocketed the device before reaching into his opposite pocket and pulling out her cell phone.

“Nurses found it on you when they were cleaning you up. You also had a knife on you, but with the way security is here nowadays I had Alfred take it back to my apartment.”

He was frowning as he handed her the phone. She understood why very quickly. At some point during the tussling around on the bus, she must have landed funny on it. The screen had splintered into six or seven sizable cracks. She turned the phone on, relieved it at least worked.

Nine unread messages blinked back at her.

She ambled back to the bed and hopped on, slithering her lower body beneath the sheet. Before responding to the messages, she wanted a quick recap on all that’d occurred during her two days of hibernation.

Bruce sank down in the chair and leaned forward, elbows resting atop his knees. He opened his mouth but didn’t say anything.

“Digging the PJ’s,” she remarked, breaking the silence.

He smiled weakly.

“I haven’t left since you got checked in. Alfred dropped by overnight clothes. Can’t say I had much of a vote in what he’d be delivering.”

She re-scanned her environment.

“Any chance you can tell me how I came to acquire my own garden?”

His smile was a little brighter.

“City Council members…the ones not facing charges at least. A show of thanks for getting their children back safe and sound.”

She nodded, surprised and touched by the gesture.

“Aesop?” she blurted, locking her gaze on him. “Is he…did the police-?”

“He’s fine,” he assured. “Holed up at my place until we get things sorted out.”

“Did he tell you about wanting protection from Joker? I…promised him that. If you can’t deliver on it, I’ll have to find another way to grant him his request. He risked his life to help me. I’m not going to leave him hanging.”

“I’m taking care of it, I promise.” He was observing her bruised face. “Celine…”

He sighed, palming some newly developed stubble.

“Before you start,” she warned, “consider all the times you’ve gone out as Batman on dangerous missions, only to return in just as rough a state as I’m in. I’m not sorry I did it. But I am sorry for not keeping you in the loop. I figured you had bigger fish to fry. Are…is Councilman Silverra still alive?”

“He is.” He rubbed his hands together. “Thank you.”

Stunned, she tilted her head.

“Did I hear that right?”

“I hope so. I don’t plan on repeating it.”

She smirked, drawing her knees up and wrapping her left hand around them.

“Fill me in, Bruce. What all did I miss?”

He nodded.

“I had Silverra under my protection and was on my way to Millburn’s apartment but got there too late. That evening Gordon received a tip on the kids’ location, but by the time reinforcements arrived, the hotel was up in flames. We assumed the worst…until you and Aesop showed up at Gotham General. As you can imagine, the media had a field day.”

Her eyes widened.

“Please tell me I’m not going to get hounded the moment I step outside this building.”

“You won’t,” he assured. “I know how you feel about being in the public eye. Aesop wanted nothing to do with the spotlight either. I had some legal documents drawn up, of which each councilmember signed. They’re not allowed to identify either of you by name or accept any interviews on how their children were returned to them. You’re in the clear on that front.”

Her whole body slumped in relief.

“Thank you.” She reclined back against the pillows. “Martial law still in effect?”

“No. Once word got out the kids were safe it was enough to deter most residents to go back home.”

“And Aesop is okay?” she asked again.

“Yes. Just as worried about you as you are about him. He clued me in on how you came to be in the state you’re in.” His eyes dropped to her bandaged hand. “I admit…it’s taking a lot not to hunt down this…_Gil_ and return the favor. From what Aesop spoke of him, he’s long overdue for a taste of his own medicine.”

“Batman doesn’t do revenge,” she reminded. “What’s done is done. We have to accept that.”

“What if I don’t want to?” His voice broke. “Celine…it kills me to see you like this. To know you were defenseless against someone who was willing to do that to you for fun. I’m not a vengeful person, but when it comes to you…he’ll be dealt with one way or another.”

She could tell he’d made his mind up on this. For the time being she wouldn’t try to dissuade him. Hopefully a week or so would help him find clarity again. Gil wasn’t worth the trouble of getting bloodthirsty over.

“If it’s any consolation, I understand a little better why it is you do what you do,” she said. “There’s a thrill to saving the day. A rush that hits when you’re in the midst of gunfire and death. It’s almost enough to make you high.”

He seemed surprised.

“You felt that too?”

“After throwing John’s toxin at Joker’s guys, yeah. It hit like a shot of epinephrine.” She tilted her head. “Maybe we could be sidekicks? Batman and the artist formerly known as Pinky? Or, Batman and the Missing Pink?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Good to know you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

“Never.” She winked at him. “Has Joker been found yet?”

“No. Gordon is prioritizing his capture above anything else. He came very close to dismantling one of this city’s primary institutions. We can’t allow something like that to happen again.”

She nodded in agreement.

“I’ve got a police officer stationed outside your room,” he informed. “They’ll be there around the clock. Just in case.”

“You think he’ll try having me killed?”

“I don’t know, but it couldn’t hurt to take the precaution. You didn’t just ruin his plan, you embarrassed him. For as…_fond_ as he is of you, I don’t know that it will be enough to avoid some form of retaliation.”

She made to respond, but the door opened, and a nurse walked in. Upon noticing the IV needle out of her arm, she frowned.

“Sorry,” Celine said. “I had to use the bathroom.”

“Hit the call button next time you do so someone can come and put it back in,” she answered, stopping at her bedside and taking her arm. “We’ve been giving you a steady dose of Oxycodone. You’re not going to like how you feel when it wears off.”

When the needle slid back into her vein, she barely flinched. The pain she’d experienced in the previous days made the injection feel like a tickle in comparison.

“Do you happen to know when I can be discharged?”

“It’s on the doctor to decide. I’ll have him come by after you get some food in you. How are you feeling?”

She shrugged.

“Face throbs a little, but it’s bearable. My right hand…tingles, and the other fingers feel kind of weak. I tried to turn on the faucet in the bathroom with them…it was like moving a heavy door.”

“That’s to be expected” she said. “Stiffness, sensitivity to cold, numbness, tingling…it will take time for these side effects to wear off. The doctor will give you more information on how your surgery went and what steps to take to ensure your injury heals over properly. I’ll be back with something to eat and drink.”

“Thank you.”

When she left, Celine examined her hand again.

“That would have been such an anticlimactic way to die,” she remarked, more to herself. “I hope my death will be a lot neater than that.”

She smiled at Bruce’s grimace. He didn’t always share the same macabre sense of humor as she did, this being one of those times.

“Wesley stopped by,” he redirected. “Considering how quickly you two hit it off, I figured you would want him in the know about your condition.”

“What did you tell him happened?”

“Mugging gone wrong. He appeared more concerned about how you looked rather than how you got to be in that state. He also told me something about a birthday gift…”

She ran a hand through her hair.

“Ugh…I haven’t had the chance to even think about that.”

“It might be exactly what you need. Gotham has done a number on you this past month. And I know how much you love to get out and explore. I really hope you say yes.”

“It’s a lot to arrange on such short notice.”

“Whatever you need me to help you with, I will.” He grew serious. “I’m not trying to run you out of the city, but I do think you need a break from here.”

“And I’ll get one,” she answered. “I’m planning to head back to Maine for a weekend shortly here. It’s just that…leaving the country for three months isn’t only a break, it’s a commitment. I don’t know that I’m ready yet to say yes.”

He looked like he wished to add on more but nodded instead.

“Well, if you do agree, let me know. If I have to bear the weight of your apartment’s rent for those three months, I’ll do it.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“A small price to pay to see you happy.”

She blushed at the tenderness in which he voiced this.

“You’re too good to me. I have to pinch myself on the regular to make sure I didn’t hallucinate you into existence.” She pinched her forearm. “Yep, you’re still here. But so is that tall, dark-robed figure in the corner there.”

Bruce’s head whipped around. She burst into giggles, one arm clutching her tummy.

“Ooh boy…you’re too easy sometimes.”

He shot her a glare, which only made her beam harder.

The nurse returned with a tray of food and a bottled water.

“I have to go back to work for a little bit,” Bruce mentioned after the nurse left. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. What do you want me to pick you up for dinner?”

She poked at her Jello with a fork, frowning when it didn’t move.

“Something greasy.”

“I can do that.” Before he walked to the door, he stopped at her bed and gave her a onceover. “I’m not good with words, but…seeing you when they removed you from the bus…it made me feel like I’d failed you.”

She made to disagree, but he brought a hand up.

“I know you did what you did from the same place that I do what I do. To condemn you for that is hypocritical, which isn’t my intention. What I’m trying to say is…I’m proud of you. You continue to prove why this city is worth saving. I just hope next time, you’ll clue me in on your plan. If I can avoid putting you in that much danger, I will.”

He cupped her cheek, thumb brushing over it.

She wrapped four fingers around his wrist and brought the heel of his palm to her lips, kissing the skin there softly.

“I’ll do my best,” she answered quietly.

He stroked her cheek a final time before heading to the door. She noticed the back of a blue, uniformed body stepping to the side to let him out.

The next few hours were spent answering text messages and conversing with Dr. Ensinger (the surgeon that had tended to her hand).

Shortly upon arrival, she had been admitted into surgery. It took Dr. Ensinger roughly two hours to rid the wound of dead tissue and any outside residue that’d gotten caught inside. He mentioned she was fortunate the cut had been done so cleanly as it prevented him from doing any additional bone reconstruction, which would have elongated her recovery time.

After dousing the area in a saline solution, he spent a half hour meticulously stitching the wound up. Sensitivity to cold, he had relayed, would be the one side effect that’d hang around for weeks, possibly months or years to come. It all depended on how well the nerves healed up.

Overall, he relayed, she would need to keep re-applying a film dressing to her wound for at least six to eight weeks before returning to get her stitches out; avoiding if at all possible, soaking it in water.

Her heart had sunk upon hearing this. She was a summer child born off the Atlantic coast. Swimming came as naturally as breathing, and there was nothing like a couple hours in the ocean on a hot summer day in Maine to reinvigorate her. She would adhere to his order only because she didn’t care to get her hand infected with some form of bacteria or fungus.

When she inquired about a potential discharge, he admitted to wanting to keep her the duration of today and tomorrow. Just to make sure everything was healing the way it needed to. He’d written out a prescription for a dose of non-addictive painkillers as well as antibiotics to eliminate any lingering signs of an infection. The film dressings she needed to buy were waterproof, but only for short windows of time. She could take a quick shower, but no soaking in the bathtub. Her wound would then need to be gently dried afterward.

“What you’re prescribing me,” she’d mentioned cautiously, “will it interfere with the antidepressants I’m on?”

He glanced at her chart, sifting through a few pages until landing on her medical history.

“No, not unless you drink alcohol. Even if it’s social, I would strongly advise quitting for the duration of your prescriptions’ requirements.”

She was put at ease hearing this, knowing this wouldn’t be an issue.

Before she was officially discharged, he would go over some physical therapy exercises she could do at home to help return natural movement to her remaining fingers as well as teach her the proper way to put on a new dressing on the occasion she had no one else to do it for her.

“You were lucky to get in when you did,” he remarked just before departing. “Had you waited any longer, especially after falling unconscious, you’d have bled out. Someone must be keeping a watchful eye over you.”

_Watchful eye indeed_, she thought, thinking of a certain homicidal clown.

The cracks on her phone screen made it difficult to respond to everyone in a timely manner. Just as well, each time she tried holding her phone in her right hand like she normally did, it slipped; relying on the grip her pinky normally had on it. When she switched to type with her left, her thumb moved at a snail’s pace. To say she was a little frustrated would be an understatement.

_No need to get worked up over it. Like all things in life, adaptability is key._

Taj’s texts centered around informing her of Councilman Millburn’s unfortunate demise as well as near frantic demands to touch back with him. She shot back that she was at the hospital, recuperating, and thanked him for checking in on her.

She was pleased to find John had texted her, though her pulse was nearly in her throat by the time she finished reading his message.

** _I stopped by last evening to visit you but did not count on a police officer being there. It appears our reunion will have to be postponed. I am pleased to hear all went well with your surgery. Check your room for a vase of black dahlias…if I recall correctly they are some of your favorites. _ **

** _It was wise of Wayne to legally conceal your involvement…your aversion to the media’s scrutiny is entirely understandable. Speaking of…my encounter with Joker went as well as to be expected…though he showed a similar tolerance for the serum as you. I’ll need to examine the reasons for this reaction further. I also told him Bruce Wayne was the Bat Man. I would have thought he’d find more humor in the revelation, but he appeared…intrigued. I know Wayne is not the Bat, but I am not sure if Joker believes similarly. I hope I have not unjustly put Wayne in harm’s way. I know how much he means to you. _ **

** _Let me know when you are discharged. It has been too long since we have enjoyed each other’s company without some form of threat lingering over us. I hope to see you soon._ **

“Damn it,” she muttered, sinking into her pillow. “He couldn’t have come up with someone else?”

It struck her as odd that he would name Bruce when he had so many other names to choose from. Was it intentional? To gauge her reaction? Or did he just have it out for her billionaire friend?

She held off on responding to him for the time being. Something told her she needed to be careful in how she worded her reply.

Agatha had shot her a text, which instilled guilt in her before she even read it. Was the universe bent on ensuring they never saw one another?

Thankfully, the message was far more understanding than she’d anticipated.

** _I hope your recovery is swift and graceful. You are welcome to stop by the store anytime you wish. I’ll have tea going. The cats miss seeing you just as much as I. _ **

She brought the phone to her chest and smiled. The woman seemed to always know when she was in a pickle. She’d have attributed the knowledge to a miracle but knew better. Agatha had a little something extra going on inside compared to the average human being. Had Dr. Ensinger not wanted to keep her as long as he did, she would be on the way to Agatha’s in just her hospital gown, so persistent was the urge to see her.

Having taken care of all her messages, Celine threw on the television just to give her something to focus on besides her current state. Every so often she would glance down at her right hand and get struck by a wave of dizziness. Her finger was actually gone. It wouldn’t grow back. She really was down to nine.

The main news channels were obsessed with covering the aftermath of the children’s rescue. How they spun what actually happened had her deeply amused. They were of the impression that two of Joker’s men had had a change of heart and defied their boss’s order in lieu of saving the children. If she was honest with herself, Joker was taking a bit of a blow to his reputation from the way they molded the events. _Clearly_, one news anchor had the guts to say, _Joker isn’t as infallible as he thinks he is_.

She laughed a little at hearing that. Then laughed harder envisioning Joker hearing that. If she’d not been on his shit list before, she certainly was now. Why that thought didn’t instill more anxiety into her, she hadn’t a clue.

As promised, Bruce stopped by later in the evening with two large takeout trays, one of which held her favorite breakfast hash on this planet from a rickety joint called _Betsy Ross II_. Breakfast was one of those meals she could eat any time of the day, so generous was her love for it. A hash from Betsy’s was no exception.

She thanked Bruce profusely for the meal in between mouthfuls of food.

He hung around until visiting hours were over, watching a few reruns of _The Twilight Zone_ with her while keeping her updated on the media circus underway outside the hospital’s doors.

“By the way,” he diverted during a commercial break, “you made a good call on trusting Aesop. I know I gave you a hard time about it, but he’s not what I thought one of Joker’s men would be like. And he picks up around the place, which frustrates Alfred a little. I don’t think he’s ever felt so useless.”

“I’m glad you’re starting to see in him what I did. How’s ah-how’s it coming along with the witness protection?”

Bruce sighed.

“Gordon will grant him protection, but only in exchange for more information on Joker. It’s not often he gets to interrogate his people. The few times he does, they either suffer a convenient mishap or lawyer up. Aesop is a goldmine. Unfortunately, he refuses to accept Gordon’s conditions. Not that I blame him really. He has just as big of a target on his back as you do.”

She nodded, not all that surprised to hear of Aesop’s reluctance to cooperate. In his eyes, keeping his mouth shut was the safer alternative.

“So, what happens now?”

“He’ll stay with me until I figure out a suitable arrangement.”

It was only when he was getting ready to head out that Celine remembered John’s text message.

“Uh…so funny story.” She cleared her throat. “Joker may or may not be under the impression that you’re Batman.”

Her shoulders hunched up as she spoke, tempted to close her eyes just to spare herself his reaction.

Bruce straightened up.

“And why would he think that?”

“John may or may not have told him. But only because I asked him to. We needed something juicy to get Joker away from where the kids were. I swear I had no idea he’d drop your name. I told him to make it up.”

“He must suspect something then,” was his calmer than she’d anticipated answer. “Which means I’ll need to behave more obnoxiously than usual to throw him off.”

She grimaced.

“Sorry.”

“I don’t think Joker will buy into it,” he offered. “He’s convinced himself Batman is someone similar to him. It’d be a kick to his ego if Crane was right.”

“Well…be careful nevertheless. John said Joker’s curiosity was piqued. I don’t want you caught off guard in case he tries something.”

“I’ll keep a look out.” He paused beside her bed. “I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon after our shareholder meeting is over. Promise not to do something that will cause me to sport gray hair early until then?”

“A tall order you’ve requested, sir. I’ll do my very, very best to keep your gorgeous locks brunette.”

He cuffed her cheek playfully before leaning in and planting a kiss on her forehead.

“I love you, Celine.”

She rubbed her cheek over his knuckles.

“Love you too, Bruce.”

She passed out shortly after he left, mind and body thoroughly spent.

The next morning’s breakfast was brought to her by the same nurse (not nearly to the quality of Betsy’s, but potatoes _po-tah-toes_), and Dr. Ensinger popped by for a half hour to rebandage and redress her hand as well as show her some exercises she could do to re-animate and re-strengthen her fingers. They were less stiff than the day prior, but she still had difficulty doing something as simple as holding her phone without dropping it.

Dr. Ensinger was patient with her frustrations, assuring her that with diligence, she’d regain proper use of her fingers in no time. He also noted the swelling had gone down considerably in her right eye, to which she agreed as she no longer had to squint to see out of it. One bandage he permanently removed was the one covering her nose.

“Have you suffered damage to your nose prior to this most recent injury?” he asked after trashing the material.

“I had it broken earlier in June.”

“That explains it. I’m afraid the prior damage inhibited me from repositioning it all the way straight. Surgery would be required to mend it fully.”

She considered the option, briefly cursing Joker for creating a trend. Let’s see how many times Celine can get her nose broken before she begins to resemble Pinocchio’s fucked up cousin?

“That won’t be necessary,” she decided, shuddering at the thought of what her hospital bill would be after such a venture. “Thank you.”

She killed time watching TV and examining all the flowers she’d received, most of which were in the early stages of wilting. A windowless hospital room was not the proper place for them. She was eager to get them home and under some proper sunlight, especially John’s. He’d been spot on in remembering black dahlias were some of her favorite.

Back in high school, when she had free time from her job or wasn’t partying it up with Cathy and their crew of friends, she would take to cruising the backroads of Calgary Cliff and the nearby counties. Her sixteen-year old self had deemed them “ditch-side wildflowers”. Sometimes she’d hit a patch of dirt road where the sides of the ditch were lined with thin stemmed, fully bloomed flowers. Flowers you would never see in a florist shop or a wedding; they grew in too turbulent and unpredictable an environment.

She would stop off to the side to pick them, sometimes walking a half mile just to pluck out a color she didn’t have clutched in her hand. They mostly ended up inside a vase for her mom or on her dashboard beneath the windshield, though sometimes she would slip the stems underneath the edges of her trunk door, so the flowers were peeking out all the way around the trunk. It was strange how those seemed like simpler times, even though she hadn’t been nearly as strong nor as self-aware as she was now.

_Ignorance is bliss; bliss is fleeting._

In the middle of her lunch, a knock sounded at the door. She tilted her head, curious as to who it could be. Those who knew she was here didn’t need to bother themselves with the gesture.

When the door parted, so did her mouth.

She had only ever seen him on her television or phone screen. In person, he was much taller.

Coucilman Silverra wandered in, clad in an expensive three-piece black suit and a charcoal tie. He was about Bruce’s height, but half his build, equipped with a full head of silver hair that’d been gelled back. Misty blue eyes immediately sought her out, though he hovered a considerable distance from her; as if waiting for her permission to move closer.

“Hello,” she stated, lowering her spoon of pudding.

“Miss Harlow, a pleasure.” He bowed his head. “I’m James Silverra. I-ah…I was hoping for a moment of your time to thank you personally for…_ehm_…saving my life.”

He looked down at his feet, not appearing to quite know what to do with his hands. Clearly, apologizing wasn’t something that came naturally to him. Even his apology after the scandal broke regarding what public funds were being spent on, had read like a carefully constructed deflection of responsibility via his PR person.

“You’re welcome.”

She didn’t particularly care to be in his company for longer than needed.

“If there’s anything I can do for you…anything at all…you only need to stop by my office and ask.”

Her brows furrowed.

“You’re staying on as a councilmember?”

He avoided her gaze, shoulders stiffening.

“Gotham needs to be reassured that the actions of the past few days haven’t inhibited the council’s ability to function amicably.”

She crossed her arms, re-scanning him and his fancy attire and two-hundred-dollar haircut.

“Do you understand why Joker did what he did?”

He pursed his lips.

“Of course. He’s a madman. No rhyme or reason behind any of it.”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“He did what he did,” she affirmed, “because the three of you, elected _by_ the people, behaved immorally and dishonestly. You stole public funds to have fun privately. None of you deserved to experience the past few days, but I had hoped it would have woken you up a little. You are not a public servant and the fact that you’re choosing to stay on will do more harm than good. Hell, maybe Joker will try coming for you a second time. He has a healthy track record of getting his target.”

His face paled considerably.

“You said anything I want, it’s mine,” she repeated. “I want your resignation.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but she shook her head.

“Resign and leave the city. You’ve done enough damage to it already, haven’t you?”

His lips moved, but nothing came out. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“No chance of you wanting something else?”

“None. This city won’t heal and rebuild unless you’re gone.”

That he didn’t try to fight her harder informed her he’d maybe debated doing something similar already.

Her request might have seemed cruel, but he’d corroded her trust in him beyond salvageability. No good would be done if he stayed on the council. It would reflect Gotham’s apathy, Gotham’s lack of holding someone accountable. He was exactly the sort of person one of her favorite philosophers - Marcus Aurelius - would have condemned for their lack of a steady, internal moral compass. And though she’d mentioned it purely to spook him, Joker may very well try to finish the job he’d started should he continue holding his position. In Joker’s mind, the message hadn’t been clear enough the first time. Men like Silverra should not be in positions of power. He wouldn’t fail getting that across a second time.

“I-would you permit me to stay for Harry Millburn and his son Jake’s funeral? It won’t be more than two hours.”

“That’s fine,” she decided.

He nodded sharply.

“Well uh-thank you again Miss Harlow.”

He didn’t bother waiting for her response, quickly shutting the door after him.

Slightly dazed by what’d just happened, she elected on a nap. Doing the right thing was never not exhaustive work.


	15. Chapter 15

When she awoke however many hours later, she noticed another visitor propped back in a chair, ankle slung over his knee as he scrolled through his phone.

“Boo!” she shouted.

Taj shot up in his chair, phone slipping out of his hands and clamoring to the floor.

“You fucking psycho,” he blurted, holding a hand to his chest. “I uh…I mean…good to see you back among the living.”

She giggled as he picked up his phone.

“Sorry,” she mended. “Can you tell I’m a little bored?”

“And you thought you’d take it out on me?”

She shrugged.

“You made it easy.”

He scoffed, pocketing his device to keep it from suffering any more ambushes.

“Thanks for stopping by,” she said, quieter. “It’s good to see you.”

“I’d say the same, but you look like you’re in a lot of pain.” He re-scanned her. “Are you?”

“Painkillers are doing their work,” she answered. “I was more worried about my hand getting infected, but the doctor cleared me on that front.”

He nodded, massaging the back of his neck.

“I had to tell Wayne about my involvement in your attempted rescue. He handled it a lot better than I expected. Good job, by the way. I was half convinced I’d sent you to your suicide. And when I didn’t hear from you…I may have done some online shopping for funeral wear.”

“Find anything worth ordering?” she asked, not blaming him in the least.

“Men’s Warehouse is having a thirty percent off sale for all online purchases. I’ve always looked good in gray, so uh…yeah…not ordered, but it’s in my cart. I’m hoping it’ll stay that way.”

“Me too,” she answered softly.

His gaze turned to all the flowers surrounding her.

“Looks like you’re in the City Council’s good graces. Any chance you can help me out of some parking tickets?”

“I don’t know that it works like that, but if the opportunity presents itself, sure.”

They were silent a moment.

“I can trust you not to talk to the media, right?” she asked. “It’d be a nice chunk of change in your pocket…so I get it if you want to cash in on what you know-.”

His interruption was swift.

“My lips are stitched and sealed,” he assured. “Both on this Joker thing and the Martha Graves lawsuit.”

Pushing herself up in the bed, she cocked her head, brows furrowed.

“Martha Graves lawsuit?”

“Yeah, the-.”

He froze.

“Oh.”

He bit down on his lip. Hard.

“Wayne didn’t tell you,” came his barely audible mumble.

“Tell me what?”

Taj drummed his fingers against a bouncing knee.

“Fuck.” He hung his head. “It’s-you’re-we’re…getting…_sued_.”

She shook her head, swinging her bandaged hand counterclockwise.

“Start from the beginning.”

He glanced up at her through his curls.

“I guess it happened Wednesday, which makes sense why you don’t know anything about it. Still…I figured Wayne would have told you by now. There uh…there’s this woman - Martha Graves -whose daughter Elle had been using _Oz Ascending_ for the last six months. She’d suffered some form of childhood trauma, I don’t know what, and had been talking through her suicidal thoughts with Dr. Suarez every evening. From what I understand, he did as protocol, even offered to begin treating her himself and setting up a more personalized appointment. Elle ended up hanging herself sometime Monday morning. Her mom went through her phone, read all the messages, and is now convinced we’re liable for her suicide. She filed the claim Wednesday, you’re due in court two days from now to dispute it. That’s what Wayne’s been doing when he hasn’t been here. Talking with our lawyers and weighing out if she has a case against us or not. He assured me she doesn’t, the clauses were worded air-tight on the first page of the terms and condition, but I’ve heard through the grapevine she’s been reaching out to media outlets for an interview on the suit. Which ah…might not look good for us.”

She felt as if he’d dumped a bucket of hungry scorpions over her.

“Are we liable?”

Her voice cracked a little asking this. Guilt was rapidly inflating her lungs.

“No,” he assured. “You, Wayne, and our lawyers made sure something like this could never come back to bite us in the ass. The transcripts from Elle and Dr. Suarez’s conversations will prove we weren’t in the wrong. Dr. Suarez did everything possible to get her serious, one on one help. But this Graves woman…she’s hellbent on blaming someone. We just happen to be that convenient someone.”

She shook her head and massaged her temples, working on her breathing. _In. _Seven seconds._ Out. _Five seconds_. In. _Seven_. Out. _Five_. _

Taj waited patiently for her to calm down.

“Okay…_okay_…we uh…we show the court the clauses in the terms and conditions. We show Elle agreed to them. We present the transcripts of their conversation…lawsuit gets tossed? Yes? This gets covered by the media, none of the them go through with the interview, recognizing she has no legs to stand on. Right?”

He hesitated.

“I’m hoping that’s how it turns out, but people in grief…they sometimes hold on to that because it’s easier than admitting someone you love is gone.”

She soaked these words in, intimately aware of how right he was. She had blamed the deaths of Cathy and her mom for so long on her own laziness and selfishness. At least if she took blame, they couldn’t leave her. Ultimately, this grief sabotaged her from moving on when the time came.

Taj was right. Sometimes, we allow grief to overstay its welcome because at least it’s a guest.

“I need to talk to Martha Graves,” she stated. “I need to talk to Dr. Suarez and get those transcripts. I need to talk to our lawyers. I need-.”

“Chill...just...chill_ out_ for a second.” He slowly lowered his hand. “Wayne isn’t going to let you take the fall for this. He’s got your back.”

She shook her head.

“It doesn’t look good if the investor is handling everything and the app owner is staying silent. I need to be proactive about this.”

“You need rest.”

“I need to be proactive about this,” she repeated, slower, maintaining eye contact. “Bruce can only do so much. Has…have Martha and Bruce met?”

“Briefly. She’s uh…not a fan of his, to put it nicely. He offered to pay her funeral expenses, she not so kindly declined.”

“All the more reason to meet with her. She needs to relate to someone who’s been where she has, not someone that’s trying to heal the wound with money. Generous as Bruce’s offer was, that she didn’t take it tells me she’s keeping that pain close to the heart. When is Bruce-?”

The rest of her question was cut off by a ding on her phone.

** _Sorry, meeting went a little longer than anticipated. I’ll be there by five-thirty. What do you want for dinner?_ **

Her four fingers tightened around the phone. That he would keep her in the dark about something so monumental and potentially career-ruining bothered her more than she cared to express. Bottom line, it was still her app. Yes, she acquired someone to help fund it and they helped her acquire programmers and coders to help keep it run, but at the end of the day, she was responsible for its conception and function. She was responsible for the user base. If they ran into trouble, she should have been the first one notified. It was mortifying being so in the dark about this potential lawsuit. About the death of someone who hadn’t received help in time.

** _My usual salad from Goretzka’s. Pls and ty, I’ll pay you back._ **

She figured it would be best to talk out in person what she’d just learned rather than text. He might not show up at the hospital due to fear of being confronted.

“Sorry you had to find out from me,” Taj offered, hanging his head between his legs.

“If you hadn’t told me, I might never have.”

He sighed.

“We will get through this,” he encouraged, peeking up at her. “Think of all those who are still alive because they had someone to listen to them when they needed it most. That won’t be forgotten, the users won’t let it.”

His loyalty to her cause was sweet, but her mind was still reeling over Martha Graves. Normally not one to lose her cool easily, she was having a tough time figuring out what she planned to say to Bruce when he arrived that wasn’t predominantly expletive-based.

“I can see Wayne’s going to get his ass handed to him when he gets here. No offense, but I’m gonna dip out before that happens.”

“None taken,” she mumbled as he moved to the door.

He ran a hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp.

“I’m…glad to see you’re alive and kicking. But …if you plan on doing something that crazy again, include me only as a last possible resource. This was a learning experience. I don’t do well looking out for another person. I don’t do well with clowns. And I spent more time than I ever cared to imagining all the ways you were being tortured. I don’t mean to be a pussy, but I’m cool with letting Batman save the day.”

“Duly noted,” she accepted. “Thank you for doing as much as you did.”

He nodded.

“Get well soon and uh…I’ll probably see you in the next few days. Guess it’ll all depend on what you and Bruce decide on.”

They exchanged a last-minute wave before he departed.

She had roughly a half hour to ruminate on what to say. The calmer, the better. She didn’t want to say something that could complicate her relationship with Bruce beyond repair. Heated as she was, he was still her friend.

Unfortunately, that level-headed generosity went out the window the minute Bruce peeked his head from around the door, elbows heavy with two takeout bags.

She still had a half-eaten chocolate pudding cup resting in her lap. The moment he entered the room, she grabbed the pudding cup with her left hand and launched it at his head. He had half a second to duck out of the way; a mural of brown splattering the wall where his head used to be.

His eyes were huge as he slowly rose back up to his full height. She crossed her arms, teeth clamped firmly around her tongue.

It didn’t take long for understanding to dawn on him.

“I take it Taj told you about the Graves lawsuit?”

“The better question is why I had to hear it from him and not you.”

He sighed wearily, approaching her with hesitant steps.

“I figured after getting the hell beaten out of you, losing a finger, and being in a coma for two days, “we’re getting sued” might not be the first words to welcome you back with. You had enough on your plate as it was. If I could handle this without burdening you, I would.”

She grumbled and accepted the bag he handed to her. It made sense. Were the positions reversed, she may have done the same just to keep his mind focused on healing.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“…eventually.”

“_Eventually_? Bruce, she’s going to news outlets about this! Would you have preferred I learned this information from a biased exposé rather than you? What would I have said if they started pestering me on the street about this? I’d have looked like an idiot, unaware of what was happening in my own workspace. If the last few days haven’t convinced you, let me reiterate-I can handle a lot more than you think. I can handle a lot more than _I_ think. You should have told me the first day I woke up. We could have brainstormed a solution together instead of you working behind my back.”

He dropped into the chair, careful to avert his gaze from her.

“I’m sorry. I was doing what I thought was best.”

He resembled such a dejected puppy she immediately felt any hovering frustrations subside. Which was okay by her. He’d apologized from the heart, there was no sense in dragging her agitation out. No sense in making him feel worse when they were on the same side.

She fiddled with her salad bowl.

“I know you were,” she followed up, softer. “I think a part of it is…being a little overwhelmed about this girl’s suicide. Have…have you read Elle and Dr. Suarez’s transcripts?”

“No, not yet. Our lawyers have it. I’m set to meet with them tomorrow downtown. If you’re feeling up to it after your discharge, I’ll drive you over with me.”

She nodded, stabbing at some spinach and tomatoes.

“I want to stop at Arkham first and talk with Dr. Suarez personally,” she decided. “The transcripts are only a part of the story. Dr. Suarez has been a licensed youth psychologist for nearly fifteen years. I don’t buy that he would lead her astray. She had to have been in a sensitive state prior to speaking with him. Similarly, after we get done meeting with the lawyers, I want to meet with Martha Graves. Just her and me. I uh...I’ve been told she doesn’t care for you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” came his murmur. “I’ll have it all arranged.”

“Thank you.”

His smile was shaky.

“Sorry again for keeping it from you. I thought I was doing you a favor, but you’re right…I forget how resilient you are. I shouldn’t, but I do.”

She accepted this apology, vowing no more hard feelings would be had.

“Councilman Silverra stopped by earlier,” she mentioned when she was halfway through her salad. “Asked me if I wanted anything as payment back for saving his hide. I told him I wanted his resignation.”

Bruce’s fork slipped from his fingers.

“And?”

“He’ll be gone after Millburn’s funeral.”

He whistled and shook his head.

“Ruthless.”

She shrugged.

“Joker’s method was too extreme. Mine? No one had to die and it’s one less creature in the lagoon. Win-win.”

“Indeed,” he agreed, sounding a little bit like Alfred.

The rest of their conversation geared around her dischargement tomorrow and what time the meetings at Arkham, at the law office, and with Martha Graves would fall on. The latter of which Bruce was adamant not to be a part of.

Though he never delved into what transpired between the two, his deep disdain for the woman spoke for itself. The playboy tended to take criticism and the words of any naysayers with a grain of salt. It was only people close to his heart he reserved his serious emotions for. Martha Graves appeared to have sunk her nails right under his skin and he was still feeling the effects of the sting. If he couldn’t charm her, the chances of her doing so would be just as difficult.

It was only when visiting hours were coming to an end that Bruce turned to her with a solemn look.

“If you’re not feeling at least halfway decent tomorrow, we can always reschedule. The meetings can wait, your health comes first.”

“We need to get on top of this before it buries us,” she answered calmly. “For my own peace of mind, I need to at least make an attempt.”

He grimaced. She picked up on it instantly.

“Is she really _that_ bad?”

One shoulder rose in a half-shrug.

“I guess you’ll find out.”

She tried not to linger on this too much as Bruce pecked her on the forehead and promised to pick her up around noon to begin their busy day.

Knowing what was ahead of her, Celine ended up passing out sometime between nine and ten o’clock that evening. She dreamed she was standing on the rooftop of a hotel at least thirty stories up. Night had blanketed Gotham. Not a star was out. The wind lashed angrily at her cheeks.

It wasn’t an uncommon dream she was having, but it had been years since she last had it. Years since she’d woken up with a pillow soaked in her own tears.

This time, it wasn’t malnourished, auburn-haired Cathy swaying on the ledge of the roof as it so often was. No, this girl was shorter and younger, though not by much. Her goldilocks blonde hair whipped around to the tune of the wind. Her knees were bent; too committed to turn back.

As with all the other dreams of this nature, Celine could only watch on, paralyzed in place, as the figure dove off the roof, arms parted in a swan dive. She knew they hit the asphalt when the wind abruptly died, and her legs could finally propel forward.

Never in time. Always too late.

Her body jerked, pulling her out of the deep slumber. Unsure what time it was, her eyes skittered to the beeping monitor at her right.

_1:07 A.M._

She stifled a groan, half-convinced the dream was an omen.

It took a few blinks to realize someone else was in the room with her. Their back was to her, facing the door. The black pants, navy blue jacket, and police hat eased her. What was it Bruce said the officer’s name was? Leon? Leroy? Leslie?

Before she could get a word out to ask, the officer rose his right leg and slammed his foot against the door handle. Her eyes widened as the handle buckled violently. The officer repeated this motion three more times before his heel was able to break the handle clean off, leaving an empty hole in its place.

Celine was clutching her sheets, trying to make sense of what she was witnessing. Her first worry was that Gil had come back for her. He’d learned of her deception and was making good on his threat to take the rest of her hand.

When the officer turned to her, she didn’t know whether to feel a burst of relief that it wasn’t Gil, or the soul-crushing dread because it was Joker.

He was…she’d never seen him look so…_human_. The black paint surrounding his eyes was nearly absent save for a couple of faint smudges, as was the red usually smeared across his lips and scars. A light coating of white greasepaint covered his face all the way down to his eyelashes, paling him further than he already was.

They stared at each other, neither of them moving.

She broke the spell first, lunging for the call button on her right-hand side. Unfortunately, her lack of coordination and grip caused the controller to slip from her grasp and clatter to the floor.

Joker pounced on her; hopping atop the bed and straddling her waist, knees pressing into her shins to keep her lower body from gathering enough strength to push him off. Much like a predator reveling in their catch, he leaned over her torso and scooped up her wrists in one hand, fingers clawing into her flesh until bruises threatened to bloom to the surface.

She tried to buck him off, head swinging wildly from left to right.

The gloved hand not keeping hers restrained, grasped her cheek in mock affection.

“Shh shh _shhh_…_relax_ and take your medicine.”

He patted her cheek two times before whipping out a syringe and stabbing the tip into the tubing of her IV.

“No no _no no no_,” she mumbled frantically, not nearly enough oxygen in her lungs to produce the scream she wanted to.

“Shh, _shhhh_,” he kept soothing, thumb descending until there was nothing left inside the syringe. “That-_a_ girl, I knew you could do it.”

He was so close and so heavy that she couldn’t prevent the whimper from exiting her trembling lips. For once, the stench of gunpowder, sweat, and kerosene didn’t cling to him. Instead, some sort of smoky, sprucey cologne that she didn’t find awful, invaded her nostrils. Reluctantly, she had to give him credit for his commitment to the disguise.

He cocked his head, locks brushing across her cheeks. Sometime throughout the scuffle, his hat had slipped off, revealing dirty blonde, shoulder-length hair. From the few times she’d been close enough to him, she had suspected his roots gave way to a lighter color.  
With the lack of black paint overshadowing his eyes, she was amazed to find how pretty they were. Like the color of a dark bourbon, fiery and rich.

Tossing the syringe behind him, his gloved hand returned to her cheek, thumb stroking it softly. His eyes swept over all of her bruises; expression unreadable.

All the fight in her seemed to seep out. Her wrists no longer tried to escape the hand imprisoning them. She couldn’t lift her lower body to save her life. A sudden bout of sleepiness made her eyes flutter.

“There it is,” he murmured, bringing his face closer to her. “Don’t worry, you’ll live to scratch ‘n kick another day. Just needed t’a sedate ya a little is all. It’s mild…I _think_. There’s uh…a chance I might’ve grabbed the wrong one.”

Sensing there was no more fight in her, he released her wrists and brought them to her sides. The left one stayed pinned to the bed while the right one mustered some last second energy to sneak underneath her pillow.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t quick enough. Joker grabbed her by the wrist and yanked the hand forward, revealing her cell phone clutched loosely in her hand.

“Tsk tsk tsk, _naughty_ girl,” he reprimanded, confiscating the phone without struggle. “Ya try t’a be a nice guy and visit your girl in the hospital…”

“Not…your…girl,” she huffed out.

“Mmm…debatable, but we’ll save that discussion for another time, _hm_?”

Her cell phone sailed over his shoulder, joining the syringe on the ground.

“Now-ah…lemme see the damage dear ol’e Gil inflicted on ya.”

She swallowed painfully. None of her limbs would move and her head could only turn a few inches in each direction. She’d thankfully never had to suffer sleep paralysis before but ventured a guess her current petrification resembled much of that experience.

Joker was not shy about prodding at her bruises, forcing out a wince each time he did so. He jabbed his finger at her cheekbones, her jawbones, at her healing eye, at her crooked nose, and finally resting his index finger on her split lip, the tip of his glove pushing against her teeth.

“Did ya cry when he did all this?”

He was studying her closely, finger jammed in her mouth.

She made an attempt at shaking her head, throat too closed up to emit words.

“Gil said ya didn’t either…probably why he felt the need to make ya later on.” He shuffled back a little to rest his weight on her waist, which made her want to deck him because sweet _nebula_ he weighed like a circus elephant already. “As you can imagine, I wasn’t very happy to what I came home to Wednesday night. Not. One. **_Bit_**.”

He looked it too; expression thunderous and severe.

She didn’t have a death wish, but at that exact moment a chuckle chose to spring out of her throat.

Joker narrowed his eyes and grabbed her chin, looming over her once more.

“Something _funny_?”

She shook her head, but another laugh soared out seconds later.

Joker slapped her across the face. She wished the action would have smothered her mirth, but it only served to amplify it.

“You-you should have seen your expression,” she gasped out, blinking back tears. “I thought for sure…I mean you stalked and researched me…but couldn’t for the life of you…recognize…_ahahaha_…”

She wondered if there wasn’t an extra little something in this sedative to make her temporarily lose her mind. This was definitely not how she’d planned to handle their exchange.

“**Stop**. _Laughing_.”

When she didn’t, he christened her with another slap from the opposite direction, mostly with his palm, hoping to jar her a bit. Because of the painkillers and sedative, she barely felt the strike.

Her laughter grew louder until she felt a tongue being shoved into her mouth. Joker squeezed her chin, spearing his tongue into her tonsils.

This, thankfully, seemed to do it. She coughed and gagged against the intrusion, but he wouldn’t let up, teeth clashing against hers in retaliation, his tongue blocking airway to her throat until her fingers were clasping uselessly at the bedsheet.

Just when she thought she was going to pass out, Joker retracted his tongue.

She sputtered out a few breaths, chest heaving up and down.

He ran a hand through his damp locks, panting a little himself.

“I **_don’t_** like being laughed at.”

His left hand was hovering near his pants pocket. She had a strong suspicion he was moments away from grabbing one of his numerous knives and potentially showcasing just how much he didn’t like it.

“S-sorry,” she breathed out. “You’re just…clever. It tickles me a little that someone like me could have pulled one over on you.”

His sneer deepened.

“_Jack_,” she reasoned, “consider the amount of times you’ve probably cackled up a storm after getting GPD or Batman or the mob by surprise…you of all people should understand.”

Her eyes followed a twitch in his jaw that shot up to his eye.

“I mean _Joker_,” she amended hastily. “Jack is only for when we’re in the bedroom, right?”

She blushed upon realizing what she’d implied.

“Not that what happened in my bedroom will ever happen again. _Ever_. Consider it a leap year,” she rambled. “That happens once every millennium.”

“Mmm…,” He licked his bottom lip, considering her with a crinkled nose. “If you weren’t so _c-uuute_, I’d stab you in the throat.”

“And if I wasn’t paralyzed, I’d stab you through the mouth.”

He laughed so sharply her face ended up doused with a mist of his spit.

Abruptly, he wove a hand through her black locks and tugged backwards, examining the strands between his fingers.

“Hmm-_p_… if you choose to stay this color, I don’t know that we can keep _canoodling_.”

“You mean it’s that easy to get rid of you?” Her eyes shot to the ceiling. “There is a God.”

He lunged at her mouth, teeth snatching up her split lip and biting down hard. Blood pooled out from the wound, some spilling into her mouth. His tongue flicked out to lick the remainder of it off before he ghosted his lips against hers and leaned back.

She was dazzled and embarrassingly, just a little turned on by the swift action. Her mouth wasn’t so apt to be witty anymore.

“I _gotta_ remember that,” he muttered more to himself. “The only way t’a _shut_ your trap is to cover it with _mine_.”

Her head twisted to the side, unable to meet the sudden deviousness burning in his eyes.

Fingers were back on her fiery cheek.

“Mmmm…you do blush _soooo_ easily…tempting not to wanna see how far it extends…” His fingers roved down her jawline and along her neck, veering across her sternum and up to the curve of her right shoulder.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye as his hand continued its journey down, stopping directly above her bandaged hand. His brows furrowed; from her view she couldn’t detect what he was thinking.

“Didn’t think ya’d ever have it in ya,” he admitted, rotating her hand. “No _offense_ but how’d ya not break cover?”

His seemingly genuine curiosity had her cheeks returning to a normal temperature.

“It was mind over matter. The ends justified the means. Everything you could possibly tell yourself to avoid thinking of the injury.”

She was studying it now too. The gentleness in which he held it astonished her.

“Do _uh_…do ya wanna see the present I got ya?”

The way he was caressing her hand didn’t match up with the growing rumble of excitement in his voice. 

“Not particularly.”

His eyes shot to her, dropping her limb.

“Sorry,” she added. “No thank you is what I meant.”

His mouth twitched. One hand ruffled her hair affectionately.

“So _modest_, makes a clown wanna spoil ya _s__enseless_**.** What if I-ah _pinky_ _promise_ you’ll like it.”

When he extended a hand to her bandaged one, pinky out, she was able to muster the strength to flip him off.

It took him a second to get why. He had to whoop and holler into the sleeve of his jacket to avoid waking up the whole hospital. Because of this, he ended up dropping his weight onto her, an elbow to the left of her head the only thing propping him up.

“Oooo hoo _hoo_…sorry about that sweets.” He giggled into her neck, hot breath heating her clammy skin. “Not one of my brigh**_t_**er moments.”

He face-palmed himself a moment later. She wished she could do so with something much spikier.

“I ah I will have you know it took some…time getting the truth out of my longest, most loyal colleague. He _thrives_ off of torture…and _truthfully_…I…_always_ suspected he may have had a teeny tiny crush on me. Not that I blame him.”

She rolled her eyes; something he picked up on.

“I’ll have ya know I’m quite the _ca-**tch**_**,**” he told her, making absolutely no effort at moving his weight off her. “No, no, no…you don’t cos you’re in d_eeeee_nial. Hmm…still gotta figure out how t’a snap ya outta that. A **_bit_** annoying for someone as observant as you.”

As her face warmed up again, she did her best to steer the conversation to safer waters.

“What did Gil tell you?”

“Mmm…that an efféminé man…he called you something less _nice_…came by for an interview and passed with _flying_ colors. Took his beating like a good boy…lost his finger…didn’t cry like a good boy, but he rolled with the punches. I’m ah…I’m assuming he did that with Sally?”

He leaned back just a little to study her better, gaze pin-pointed on her face. She got the feeling that there were still some missing pieces to the story Joker wasn’t privy to. He was analyzing her, internally corroborating what she was telling him with Gil’s version of events.

“It was all I could afford to have on me…anything more and it would have been suspicious.”

“And Crane’s serum? Not wise to lie. I _know_ he helped you. I _know_ **_it_**.”

“Had it stuffed beneath my chest binder. When I tried calling you earlier, I was having a friend trace your location. You hung up before we could find you. I figured plan B was infiltration. By dumb luck I just happened to run across John along the way. He didn’t want me to end up blindsided or killed, so offered to lure you away. Which I’m a little surprised you bought. You keep ranting about having a stiff one for me, but with how obsessed you are with Dr. Crane, I think maybe _you_ are in d_eeeee_nial about something,” she responded, making sure to stress the word just as he had.

He’d been glowering at her throughout the duration of her explanation. When she finished speaking, he tightened the muscles in his thighs and pushed back to sit on her waist. Both gloved hands ran through his hair, fingers tangling in between the locks and shaking them every which way. It was like observing a dog getting petted by a variety of different hands.

“You are trouble with a capital **T**,” he murmured, eyes closed. “Testing me. Yes, yes…_testing_ me. I’ve not known peace since meeting you.”

Whatever of her body still retained function, stiffened. Was this it? His segue way into strangling her or smothering her with her pillow or-?

“Shhhhh…,” he repeated, eyes falling back to her, “I can practically _hear_ your thoughts. They thump…like this…buh-_buh_…buh-_buh_…”

“I’ve never been one for dragging out the inevitable,” she answered mildly. “Do what you came here to do.”

He sucked in the edge of one of his cheeks, lapping up the saliva that’d gathered there.

“Ya sure about that?”

“Not like I can do anything to fight you off.”

“Touché.”

He abruptly got off her and hurried over to a red and white hospital cooler that had been sitting unnoticed near the door. He knelt and lifted the top up, humming a little as his hands dove into the ice.

She was too nervous to see what he’d pull out, so opted instead to train her focus on the pudding stain the nurse had miraculously missed seeing.

“You know…ya really put me in a tricky _spot_,” he remarked over his shoulder, shoulders rising and falling. “Gil wasn’t shy about um…_discussing_ what he planned to do to ya. Even offered t’a bring me your body parts in repentance for his momentary lapse of judgment. That you were able to mosey on by without detection makes me a just a wee b_it_ cranky ...**_but_**…what made me crankier was hearing Gil go on and on and on and _oooonnnn _about ya. Because you see…after some time, I was able to find the humor in it. That’s what you do, isn’t it? Hop by unseen because no one would suspect a soft little bunny to be more than it is. My mistake, **_won’t_** happen again.”

She couldn’t help but look at him, painfully curious as to what point he was getting to.

When he turned around, she choked on a scream.

Joker stood with a zip-lock bag of ten severed fingers, the blood from them nearly obscuring the digits from view.

“Surprise!” he beamed, shaking the bag a little. “What’s the saying? Eye for an eye? Tooth for a tooth? Babylonians had some real _zingers_.”

Her mouth dropped open as far as it could go. For the life of her, she couldn’t close it.

“You-.”

She didn’t have the words.

“Me!” he giggled excitedly. “But oh no _no no no_ this is just _one_ part of your present.”

“You don’t have to-.”

He ignored her and turned back around, dumping the zip-lock bag in lieu for another one.

The moment he was facing her again, she tried to twist her head away, fighting off the urge to gag.

“Don’t ah…don’t normally do this, _but_…he was very, _very_ adamant about raping you. Figured I’d uh…make sure he _couldn’t_.”

She pressed her lips together, closing her eyes.

“Aww you’re killing me sweets. I really thought you’d take to the gesture. I not only chose you over him, I made sure there wasn’t anything left of him to choose. Some would call that romantic.”

“Coming from a psychopath,” she couldn’t help but voice, “that sounds about right.”

His giggle was high-pitched.

“Glad ya appreciate my labor of love.”

“Appreciate…is a _strong_ word,” she tested out. “Please…please put it away.”

“I got his toes in one bag,” he told her, leaning over the cooler. “Ears in another. Eyes. Teeth. Fingernails. Toenails. Hair follicles-.”

“Joker. Please. _Enough_. I…thank you for…doing what you did. It couldn’t have been easy getting rid of someone who’s been loyal to you for so long. I’m sorry I put you in that position.”

She risked a peek at him after thirty seconds, curious as to why he wasn’t answering.

He was shaking his head instead, brow furrowed.

“You.” He pointed at her. “Are far too good for your own good. On anyone else, it’d be sanctimonious. On you, it’s…_endearing_.”

“That’s-that’s a _good_ thing?”

“Mmm…yes…and no.”

He didn’t elaborate. She didn’t bother asking him to.

“So…is that it?” she asked. “You wanted to give me a present and then head off on your merry way?”

He approached her, index finger tapping at his chin.

“Not _quite_. Few more things I want cleared up. When uh…when’d ya recruit my boy Aesop? I’m just _dying_ to have a chat with him next.”

She tried to lift her body up.

“I swear-I _swear_…I don’t know what I swear upon, but if you touch him, I will make you regret it.”

His eyes widened comically. “Oh no! I’m so frightened!” He clutched his cheeks dramatically.

“Don’t underestimate me,” she growled back.

All amusement vanished from his features.

“He porked ya, didn’t he?” he ventured, growing moodier with each step toward her. “That ah…that why he risked his ass to save those brats? Thinking he can have access to that sweet slit between your legs. Mmm…no, no, no, no…that _won’t_ do.”

He was readying himself to get back on top of her when she interrupted him.

“You always do this! You _always_ assume I sway men to help me by fucking them. Aesop, Bruce, John. It’s ignorant and quite frankly, insulting. I don’t know if that’s how you get people on your side, but Aesop had good in him. _Remarkably_, he had good in him despite working for you as long as he had. You potentially executing those kids…it was a wake-up call for him. Pretending to kill me in that church was a wake-up call. I offered him a lifejacket; he took it. I didn’t do anything. If anyone’s responsible for his desertion, it’s you. Be a better boss next time.”

He slowly lowered his leg back down, peering at her intensely.

“He knew nothing of what I had planned,” she continued. “And only agreed when I revealed myself.”

“And how _exactly_ did you know where I was?”

“John told me. You’re…_not as_ sneaky as you think.”

She could tell he meant to comment on this but chose at the last moment to divert his course.

“Speaking of _brats_…Crow told me the funniest thing.”

She knew very well where this was going. As a pre-emptive measure, she made her expression completely neutral.

“He told me-.” He clutched his tummy, giggling a little. “He told me Bruce Wayne was the _Bat_. Funny, isn’t it?”

“No, not really,” she countered. “When I told him to make up a name, I didn’t expect him to hate Bruce as much as he did. It makes John feel…_inadequate_ that I’m friends with someone who’s so famous and well-off. Plus…for some reason…the dating rumors really get to him. I think he thinks I deserve better.”

She wasn’t lying entirely. This most recent run-in with Scarecrow only reaffirmed her long-held suspicions. Some part of John would pursue her romantically if given the chance. Their conversations were too stimulating to ignore. They cared for another deeper than most human connections. Regrettably, she had never been able to transition her thoughts of him to more romantic pastures. A part of it was just the relief of having such a smart, reliable friend to intellectually engage in. She didn’t want to lose that if she didn’t have to.

After nearly a minute of analyzing her face with a stern squint, Joker seemed to relax his shoulders a little. The gesture brought her attention to his tight, suited form.

_He looks good._

She banished that thought to the fiery pits of hell before it could manifest into something that would get her in trouble.

_What is wrong with me? I’m supposed to be incensed at him, not turned on. _

“I have a text from him you can read,” she offered, willing to do just about anything to steer Joker’s suspicions away from Bruce. “Would you hand me my phone please?”

He seemed to debate whether to do so or not. Curiosity, luckily, won out.

She let him place the device in her left hand, ignoring his burning gaze on her. Typing in her passcode with a thumb, she opened up the most recent message John had sent her. When it was up, she offered the phone back to Joker.

He skimmed the message quickly. It got her thinking he was probably an outstanding student in school.

“Aww how _nice_ of him.”

He dropped the device, causing her to grit her teeth.

_Phones aren’t cheap asshole._

She watched him wander around the room, gaze flickering over all the flowers surrounding her. When he located the black dahlias, he grabbed them out of the vase and approached her.

Whistling to himself, Joker placed one overtop her chest and the rest around her head, forming a halo. To say she was confused would be an understatement.

He took a few steps back and retrieved his phone. Bringing it eye-level with him, he began to snap photos of her. She doubted he needed so many, but he obviously thought different.

“The prettiest flower in the room surrounded by her favorite flowers,” he mumbled, grinning wolfishly. “These _uh_ these the ones you want for our wedding?”

She nearly choked on her spit.

“I’d prefer them at your funeral.”

He let loose a cackle, pocketing his phone.

“We’ll uh just have t’a see which one happens first, won’t we?”

Biting his lip, he cocked his head, studying her silently.

“Was there something else you needed?” she asked, flushing a little under his scrutiny.

“Oh yes…many, _many_ things I need.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and released a shaky breath. His tone had descended into that low, playful one he used to flirt. She refused to engage.

“Ya really are a stunner, ya know that?” he continued, sounding much closer to her. “The bruises…the cute little tilt to your nose…even the missing pinky…not a lot of guys would go for battered goods.”

“Lucky me,” she muttered.

“Look at me.”

She kept her eyes sealed tight.

“Celine.” His voice darkened. “Look. At. Me.”

Her bottom lip began to tremble.

She felt his weight settle on top of her again. When his hair tickled her face, she reluctantly opened her eyes.

“I’m not angry anymore,” he told her, index finger tracing her shivering lip back and forth. “I was at first. Not _ah_-not usually the bu**_tt_** of the joke.”

His hand left her lips and moved to cup her cheek, thumb stroking a tender bruise.

“But I need smarts in my gal. Tenacity. A willingness t’a dive deep into the unknown. And ya have all of it. I thought I had ya figured…soooo _glad_ I don’t.”

She didn’t know why tears were gathering in her eyes. What was he trying to get out of his praise? Why say all these things if he only meant to toy with her?

“You don’t believe me, do ya?”

He didn’t seem like he was playing with her, but she could never be too sure with him.

“Would you believe you?” she asked.

He left the question unanswered, instead, leaning in and pressing his lips against hers. It was the gentlest kiss he’d ever provided her with. A tear leaked out of the corner of her eye.

“I gotta lay low for a while,” he mumbled, trailing the tip of his nose over her cheek. “Commissioner Gordon wants me _bad_. I didn’t even kill anyone this time! He’s being a _little_ unreasonable, don’t ya think? But _eh_ what’s a clown to do?”

The scarred flesh of his right cheek brushed against her own.

“This means you’ll leave me alone?”

He met her eyes lazily.

“This means,” he continued, “I’ll be around more, even if ya can’t see me. It’s become apparent how _dangerous_ it is to not have eyes on you. And seeing as ya stole the last pair I assigned the job to, I don’t trust ya not to do it again. What better person to watch ya than me?”

She tried turning her head away from him, but he shot out a hand and tilted her head back toward him.

“Try not to look so excited,” he deadpanned, lapping at his scars. “This also means that when I text you, I expect a text back. Very rude to ignore others, hm?”

“And if I don’t?” she challenged.

“If ya don’t, I’ll sneak into Bruce Wayne’s cozy little penthouse and gut Aesop like a trout. And I’ll film it and make ya watch.”

Again, she tried to turn her head away. Again, Joker denied her attempt.

“Are ya gonna answer my texts like a good girl?” he cooed, thumb stroking her bottom lip.

It infuriated her to answer, but she wasn’t about to endanger Aesop’s well-being.

“Yes,” she gritted out.

“Faaan-_tastic_.” He leaned it to kiss her again, but she pursed her lips, refusing him access.

His sigh was long and drawn out.

“What’s a clown gotta do to get some lovin’?”

“There’s a lot of prostitutes in this city.”

“No point if you’re not one of ‘em.”

She shouldn’t have found that as charming as that was. Sadly, Joker picked up on the slight twitch in her lip.

“You don’t see yet…not _yet_…but you will. You and I…we go together like…penicillin and bacteria…a monarch and a guillotine…a raccoon and rabies.”

“Doesn’t one end up destroying the other?”

“Not much a romantic, are ya?”

“And you are?”

He shrugged.

“What can I say? You make me wanna set fire to a parking lot of cars just so I can spell out your name. Speaking of…”

“Don’t you dare.”

His smirk was devious.

“You let me finger that d_eeee_licious pussy of yours, but can’t handle a grand display of affection? And I thought _I_ had intimacy issues.”

She blushed. When on Earth would this sedative wear off?

“Please go,” she requested quietly. “I really need rest.”

“Mmm…suppose you do,” he answered slowly. “How about a kiss for the road?”

Her head twisted out of his grasp, staring resolutely to her left.

“Aww…don’t be like that.”

Anger was beginning to brew in her chest. His entitlement amplified the feeling.

“There’s a child dead because of you…and you think…you think I’m going to just let you-?”

He grabbed her chin, fingers sliding into her mouth to prevent any more words from exiting.

“News flash for ya sweets, I didn’t pull the trigger. Someone _chose_ to shoot that brat. My directions were _crystal_ clear.”

She closed her eyes and worked on her breathing. It wouldn’t do to let on just how upset he’d made her.

“I’ve been too lenient,” she voiced softly, despite the fingers in her mouth. “No more of this...whatever this is. I can’t associate with you anymore.”

His fingers slowly slipped out of her mouth. When he didn’t say anything, she shot him a glance.

“I’m-_ah_ I’m afraid it’s far _too_ late for that. You’ve got me whether you want it or **_not_**.” One hand snuck into her hair and tightened his fingers around the locks, keeping her faced towards him. “And you will see it…_eventually_. No one’s better matched for you than me.”

She was powerless to turn away as he smashed his mouth against hers.

“Mphf-.” She tried to twist her head away, but he kept a firm hold on her hair.

The kiss could hardly be called that. She could feel him pouring out all of his agitation into her, tongue darting after hers anytime she attempted to evade his. The grip in her hair tightened as he thrusted his hips into her, his half erect cock digging into her stomach. A tussled moan traveled out of his mouth and into hers. She was struggling to get air into her lungs. As a last resort, she made herself completely lax, letting him swirl his tongue around her limp one.

The lack of response seemed to do the trick. He pulled away; their mouths connected by a string of saliva, of which he licked away.

“Mmm…play hard to get all you want,” he told her, studying her glistening lips. “Stick t’a your morals if it helps you sleep at night. But make no mistake…the _only_ way to get rid of me is to kill me.”

One hand dove into his pocket and pulled out Jack. He gripped the knife by the blade and shoved the handle into her left hand, which ever so slowly was regaining the ability to move.

“Wrap your fingers around it.”

She did so, brows nearly touching

“Got a good grip?” he confirmed

She nodded shakily; fingers nearly white around the handle.

“I’m gonna give ya a chance t’a get rid of me for good. Only _one_ chance. Put Jack through my heart. It won’t require much…and if ya have the gall to do it, I’ll meet ya the rest of the way and push into it. Go ahead.”

He had readjusted his body so only a couple of inches separated his chest from the tip of the blade.

“Tick-tock Celine,” he reminded in response to her lack of movement. “You wanted to-.”

Her hand swiftly lifted up, the tip spearing him through his blue dress shirt. When she encountered skin, her strength wavered.

He looked down at the gash in his shirt.

“C’mon, c’mon, break _through_ the skin. I’ll lean the rest of the way in like a good boy.”

There was no hint of fear present as he spoke of his potential demise. Yet again, he was provoking her. She almost wanted to stab him just to wipe the self-satisfied smirk off his face.

“I can’t,” she whispered, hand shaking.

“I _know_.” He swiped Jack out of her hand and re-pocketed him. “You’ve made your bed, be prepared to lie in it.”

Her eyes squeezed shut, but it wasn’t fast enough to contain a stray tear.

His index finger brushed it away. She missed seeing him lick it off his glove.

“It’s not so bad,” he attempted to soothe, “you won’t be alone in that bed. That’s ah…_more_ than can be said for most people.”

“P-please leave,” she stuttered out. “I just want to sleep.”

“Such a conflicted bunny,” he murmured, pecking her on her trembling lips. “I’ll be seeing ya real soon.”

As he lifted his upper body off her, she finally found the will to open her eyes. The black dahlia that’d been residing atop her chest had been crushed between their bodies, a few of the petals scattered along her hospital gown. Joker picked up what was left of the flower and moved off the bed, tucking the stem behind an ear. He then picked up the police hat and put it back on.

Wordlessly he moved to the door and took out a shank, sliding the tip into the hole of where the door handle used to be. He jimmied it a few times before a _snap_ could resonate through the room. The door creaked open.

He picked up the cooler he’d brought and without sparing her a further glance, made his way out of the room, resuming his earlier whistling.

The encounter wore her out in more ways than one. She felt defeated. Like the control over her life had suddenly been hijacked by Joker.

_Maybe Bruce and Wesley are right…I need to get out of Gotham. He’s a wanted terrorist. There’s no way he could board a plane and follow after me. It’d be nice to be away from this chaos for three months. Nice and peaceful and exciting and…_

Her eyes flickered until she was out cold once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a wildly difficult chapter to finish. But any time I take myself or this story too seriously, I remember it's fanfiction and I can do whatever the heck I please.  
Is Celine in denial? Is Joker just toying with her? Why am I asking YOU all these questions??


	16. Chapter 16

Celine was a master at playing dumb and playing dumb is exactly what she did the next morning when the nurse walked into her room with breakfast. She first stared at the hole in the door, then the discarded handle on the floor, before eventually resting her – _bless her soul _– perplexed gaze on the chocolate pudding stain on the wall.

“I have no idea,” she input before the nurse could inquire. “I woke up to this. Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Didn’t the officer see something?”

From the crack in the door, she was able to glimpse the same police officer who had monitored her room pre-Joker’s interference. That he was still alive eased her considerably. She hadn’t put it past Joker not to kill him. Then again, he probably didn’t want to arouse any suspicion what with Gordon being so adamant in catching him.

“There was a different one last night,” she replied. “I was out like a light by ten. Sorry.”

Her nod was slow.

“Dr. Ensinger will be by shortly with your discharge papers.”

She sat the tray on her lap and gently took her right arm, sliding the IV needle out of her vein.

Just before she went to leave, her eyes roved overtop Celine’s head. Having just woken up recently herself, she hadn’t had the chance to scoop up the halo of dahlias Joker christened her with.

_She’s going to be stumped on this one for a while, poor dear._

Thankfully, she didn’t comment; merely shaking her head, picking up the door handle, and exiting the room.

Celine slid the tray off her and slipped out of bed to grab her phone. That’s what had pulled her out of slumber to begin with. Her text tone had dinged three times in a row.

When she read the number assaulting her so early with messages, she sighed and stared hopelessly up at the ceiling.

_He didn’t get enough of me last night? Sheeeeeesh, I’d have thought he’d wait a few days at LEAST._

Sighing, she returned to the bed and focused on her breakfast. His messages could wait. Today would prove to be a taxing day, she could feel it already in her bones. She deserved at least a few moments of bliss before having it disrupted, didn’t she?

It was only when she had a banana left on her tray to eat that she finally bit the bullet and pulled up Joker’s messages.

The first one read:

** _Mooooorning gorgeous! How about a joke?  
What do you call a cheap circumcision?_ **

Her brows drew together.

_Half off snip and clip?_

The second message was the punchline:

** _A rip off!_ **

She involuntarily snorted. For as foreign and difficult to grasp as he was, he was still a man. And men, no matter the age, would always find dick jokes funny.

The last message was a video with one sentence attached.

** _I wasn’t the only one to have a BLAST last night!_ **

She opened the video and played it.

He must have recorded it sometime after leaving the hospital. It was still night and he was crouched kitty corner from a four-door black Buick parked off the street of an expensive looking condo. The car’s trunk was open, but Joker’s hand shook so erratically that it took her some time to realize it was stuffed with moving boxes.

“C’mon, _c’moooon_,” Joker was muttering under his breath, visibly excited.

Which most likely meant she wasn’t going to like what would happen next.

Her heart lurched at seeing James Silverra exit his home and deposit one final box into the trunk before slamming it shut. He casted a last-minute glance at the condo before making his way to the driver’s side. She was shaking her head frantically as he got in and put his key into the ignition. The second he tried to start the car, it erupted into flames; shards of metal flying every which way. A plume of smoke and fire tore through the sky like an angered dragon.

Joker zoomed in on the fire and the former councilman seat-belted inside, flesh and bone rapidly eroding away. He then turned the camera to focus on himself, speaking into it diagonally.

“Can’t save everyone, sweets. I’d _ah_ consider him…_fired_, how about you?”

The last ten seconds of the video was just him cackling in response to his own joke, before the video went dead.

She shakily set the phone down, pressing both palms together.

“God damn it.”

Should she send the video to someone? Would it help? Would it matter? No doubt the media had already covered the event to its potential. It didn’t take too much brain power to conclude who the culprit was.

_Why would he send me the video? To brag? To remind me that going against him is pointless? _

Her musings were disrupted by Dr. Ensinger’s arrival.

“And how are we feeling today? Still stiffness in the right-hand fingers?”

“I’ve been doing some of the exercises you showed me before bed. I think it’s helping; they move a little easier. I’m still a bit sore, but it isn’t so bad that I can’t focus on anything else.”

“That’s encouraging to hear.” He handed her a file. “I’ve got your discharge slips in here. Your prescription is already called in and ready for you to pick up. Just as a reminder, in six to eight weeks’ time I’ll need you to come back so I can remove the stitches. Monitor it in that time period and call if you suspect it’s either infected or the stitches tore.”

The request knocked loose something she’d been meaning to ask.

“There’s a chance I might be out of the country the tail end of July and all of August and September.”

“Ah.” He straightened. “In that case inform your health care provider and make sure if you do travel, you have your insurance card on you. Where are you going if I may ask?”

Her lips twitched.

“Everywhere. All seven continents.”

His brows rose.

“How exciting, plan to hit every country or just a chosen handful?”

“That…I don’t know.”

“Well, if you happen to stop by in the Bavaria part of Germany, I’d recommend going on a tour of the Neuschwanstein Castle. I have family there and that castle in particular has always been one of my favorites. There’s also…well, I ah…my colleagues would laugh at me if I told them…but the wife is a huge rabbit lover. We’ve got twelve and counting. While we were in Japan, we ferried over to Okunoshima island-.”

“Bunny island!” she exclaimed, eyes growing wide. “Yes! I’ve heard of that place…is it really as populated with them as I’ve read?”

“Certain areas, yes. You can’t step down without having one of those critters beneath you. It was quite therapeutic to hold and pet them. Though…the wife was tempted to stay there, so I nearly went home divorced.”

She joined in on his chuckling, mentally tucking away the two locations for a later discussion with Wesley. It was the first time she genuinely looked forward to her expedition. And perhaps that’s what she needed to be doing…assembling a list. Comparing her desired locales with Wesley’s. Considering the hecticness of the past few days, it might be beneficial to her own health to focus on something that served as a reward of sorts. Survive the lawsuit, survive Joker just for a few more weeks and then hopefully smooth sailing overseas.

She exchanged a final goodbye with Dr. Ensinger before getting to work on rounding up all the flower vases and setting them near the door.

Bruce swung by just as she set down vase number thirty-four.

“We’re taking all of them?!?”

“Um…yeah?”

He offered her a cup of coffee, staring down at the flowers.

“They’re already on their way to wilting…”

She shrugged.

“Even after they’ve decomposed, flowers don’t stop being beautiful to me. Sorry Bruce, pitfalls of being friends with a hippie.”

He grumbled something she didn’t catch.

It took them four trips to deposit all the vases in Bruce’s backseat. Her coffee was halfway chugged by the time she slipped into the passenger side of his vehicle.

“Picking up your prescription first or-?”

“I need a shower,” she stated. “I smell ghastly.”

He set off to her apartment, occasionally glancing in the backseat to make sure the vases wouldn’t tip over. It was probably unusual for him to be driving so carefully.

“Did you hear about Councilman Silverra?”

She pursed her lips and looked out the window.

“Yeah.”

“Gordon suspects it was Joker.”

“It was. He filmed it and sent me the video.”

Bruce’s head shot to her.

“You’re serious?”

“Unfortunately.”

His hands tightened around the wheel. She was too nervous to tell him about last night’s rendezvous. Most of what Joker said would need to be edited out so it didn’t sound like she had a delusional stalker on her hands…even though that’s exactly what she had.

_One priority at a time. Today’s errands supersede anything else. _

“Why send that to you?” he finally asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

They got to her apartment by eleven, and the flowers were inside and watered by eleven-thirty.

Bruce occupied himself with watching TV as she took her first shower in nearly a week. She did her best to keep her bandaged hand dry, washing and shampooing herself with her left. Because of this, she wasn’t fully cleaned and dressed until nearly twelve-thirty.

Her outfit was much more conservative than what she normally wore – khakis and a fitting, long-sleeved, white dress shirt with the first few buttons undone. For once, she opted for a little bit of mascara, blush, and a light coating of a plum-colored lipstick. Lastly, she scooped up a portion of her hair and bobby pinned it up in a 1940’s puff. One of the black dahlias that’d managed to survive unblemished, was also bobby pinned to the side of the puff. She figured it’d help to look somewhat professional, namely when speaking with Martha Graves.

Before they left, she took her antidepressants and grabbed a granola bar from the kitchen. Their first meeting would be with Dr. Suarez, and then immediately after they were to head downtown to touch base with their lawyers. She wasn’t sure how long it would take, or whether they’d have the chance to get some grub along the way.

Bruce stopped at the drug store/pharmacy nearest to her home first, allowing her to pick up her prescriptions, some white bandages, a week’s worth of dress film, and some hair dye that was just a pinch darker than her natural color. As he headed out in the direction of Arkham State Hospital, she worked on re-dressing and re-wrapping her hand like Dr. Ensinger taught her, trashing the soiled ones in a spare plastic bag.

Prior to covering the wound back up, Celine spent a few moments examining the spot where her pinky used to be. It was a little swollen, but the stitches were doing their job and already, she could see the area attempting to regenerate and seal over the hole. Regrettably, she couldn’t keep it uncovered for long as the AC in the car made her grit her teeth in discomfort.

They parked at the hospital just shy of one-thirty, Bruce leading the way inside. The desk clerk recognized them both from their frequent stop byes, and apparently had been given a heads up about their meeting.

“Dr. Suarez is with a patient currently; he should be finished at two o’clock. He said you’re more than welcome to wait for him in his office.”

“Thank you,” she said, turning to Bruce. “I don’t know about you, but I could use another cup of coffee. I’m going to stop by the cafeteria and grab a cup, want one?”

“Something tells me I’ll be needing it,” came his moody response.

They parted ways at the elevator, her promising to meet him shortly.

The cafeteria was bare save for a few guards on break. She walked over to where the coffee pots were situated and poured Bruce and herself a healthy portion each.

Just as she turned around, a woman bounded over to her.

“Excuse me,” she blurted, stopping only when she was an arm’s distance away. “You’re Celine Harlow, aren’t you? The one Joker held as a hostage last month?”

Celine cautiously examined the woman. She couldn’t have been much younger than her and was quite pretty. Bleach blonde hair was tucked back in a slick ponytail. Black-framed glasses held in them vibrant blue eyes. Her makeup was lightly and meticulously applied. Seeing her in the white coat all of the psychiatrists wore eased her considerably. She didn’t appear to be a pesky reporter.

“I am,” she said slowly, offering her a shaky smile.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to corner you like this.” Her smile was radiant, revealing perfect, straight white teeth. “I’m Dr. Harleen Quinzel.”

She extended a manicured hand. Celine shook it, surprised by the grip on the woman.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable either,” she added when they lowered their hands. “I just…didn’t expect to run into you here. I’ve been putting together a psych evaluation for the police department on Joker for just under half a year. When I realized it was you, I was hoping maybe I could ask you some questions seeing as you witnessed him firsthand. It’s my dream to diagnose him on a one on one basis, but I’m new here and he’s evaded capture for eight months now. His victims…those rare few still alive…are the next best thing.”

“Have you tried talking to Harvey Dent?”

Her smile slipped.

“He becomes physical anytime I try mentioning him. That speaks for itself I suppose.”

She didn’t let this information deter her chipper mood.

“Only if you can spare the time,” she followed up. “I apologize if I’m keeping you from something.”

She glanced at the clock, seeing she had at least fifteen minutes before Dr. Suarez was due back.

“Do you think what I have to say will help at all?”

Harleen’s eyes widened.

“Without question. I’ve got a few pages worth of former doctors’ notes when he was a resident here last. It’s helpful, but I got the impression he was pulling a fast one on them so they would lower his threat level and keep less guards on him. He’s a dangerous case no doubt, but I believe anyone can be treated with a mixture of medicine and compassion.”

Celine hid her grimace. The word naïve flashed through her mind. She didn’t think Dr. Quinzel to be a stupid woman; she wouldn’t be in her position if she were. But the idea of extending compassion to someone as empathy-lacking as Joker? From personal experience, it wasn’t wise. He would chew her up and spit her out.

“The medicine part I agree with you on,” she relayed as Harleen brought out a small notepad and pen from her pocket. “Compassion…is…a stretch. All living beings deserve it, certainly, but some are too far gone for it to do anything for.”

She was already scratching down notes.

“And you consider Joker beyond help?”

“There isn’t a pill in the world to cure him, only sedate his more psychopathic tendencies. He doesn’t have morals, but he does have personal ideologies that have shaped and emboldened him. You could schedule an appointment with him every day for ten years and he wouldn’t change. He knows what he’s doing. He relishes in what he’s doing. He answers to no one but himself.”

Harleen’s hand was scribbling away, tongue peeking out from the corner of her mouth.

“His treatment of you-.” She momentarily peeked up, frowning a little. “-what prompted the violent outbursts? Was there anything you noticed that seemed to set him off? A trigger?”

It took her a moment to register Harleen’s insinuation.

“Oh this?” She gestured at her bruised face. “Attempted mugging. Not him.”

She didn’t bother hiding her surprise.

“Oh…I…_I’m_ so sorry. I just assumed…um, did he hurt you at all?”

_How much do I tell her? And will she write a book about this in the future?_

“He challenged me to a knife fight to the death. Picked up a few scrapes and a broken nose, but nothing serious.”

“But…you’re both still alive,” she concluded. “So…what made him keep from killing you? I assume he won; that’s been a reoccurring trait I’ve noted from those who’ve faced him and lived to tell about it. He’s a master in all forms of combat.”

She could feel her cheeks heating up.

“I…I don’t know. At one point I got the upper hand and he tried provoking me into killing him. I…didn’t have the guts to end another human life, even his. I ended up passing out just after.”

Harleen tapped the pen against her bottom lip, squinting thoughtfully. Celine got the impression the psychiatrist didn’t fully believe her.

“You must have had frequent encounters with him to have such a…_vivid_ analysis of his character.”

She shrugged.

“I’ve always been an observer, even from a distance. This is all subjective, I could be entirely off.”

“Oh no I think what you’ve said lines up with my growing profile.” She tilted her head, ponytail swinging at the motion. “Why do you think he kept you but returned the other hostages? And why did he not kill you? Not that I’m advocating for your death here, it’s just that…his one-on-one victims tend not to last very long.”

“I don’t know, Dr. Quinzel. I’m just lucky to be alive.”

Nodding, she jotted down a few more notes.

“May I be frank with you, Celine?”

“Go ahead.”

Her lips quirked up, but there was hesitation in her eyes.

“I don’t think you’re telling me everything. Your…observations of him are too intimate not to hint at some form of an established relationship. This isn’t uncommon between captive and captee. As you most likely saw this morning, Councilman Silverra was killed in a car bombing last night. I have no doubt in my mind Joker is responsible. If he wants your head, he’ll get it one way or another. You, on the other hand, have seemingly been spared this fate. I know you’ve only just met me, and I don’t envy having to evade reporters looking to make a name for themselves…but the truth…perhaps it might be beneficial to talk it out with someone. Not just for my sake, but for yours too.”

She scanned the cafeteria once before taking a step closer to her.

“I promise that what you tell me will stay between us. Should I publish an essay in a few years, you will remain anonymous. Your safety will be prioritized above all else, I guarantee it.”

When she looked into Harleen’s eyes, she saw a near indistinguishable mix of genuineness and drive. Yes, she would protect her to the best of her ability, but she would also do whatever possible to complete her analysis. The pretty face wasn’t to be underestimated.

“Help me out,” she tried a final time, “and I’ll help you out with whatever it is you need, to the best of my ability.”

Her instinctive response was to once again play dumb. Discourage the doctor so she didn’t bite off more than she could chew.

But at that exact moment John’s face popped into her mind. She’d vowed to help him return to stability. To the brilliant doctor he was. Harleen, pained as she was to admit it, was a blessing in disguise.

_There’s no way I can tell her everything that occurred between us. I can barely come to terms with some of it myself._

Her phone dinged, interrupting her thought process.

** _Dr. Suarez is back. _ **

She stared at the message for a few seconds before lifting her head up. 

“Dr. Quinzel-.”

“Harleen, please.”

“Harleen…maybe there is something you could do for me…but it would put your position here in jeopardy.”

“Name it and I’ll see it done.”

Celine frowned. She hoped Harleen never actually got the chance to psychoanalyze Joker one-on-one. There was no way she’d be able to hide her fascination with him. He would pick up on it within a meeting.

“I have a friend,” she began, lowering her voice as a guard passed by, “that needs medication, but refuses to step foot in here again. He…wasn’t treated all that humanely in his residency. He’s gotten worse as of late…and I don’t know how else to help him other than with medicine.”

“What does he need?”

“Six hundred milligrams of Clyzomene. Twenty-four hundred of lithium.”

She jotted this down, nodding as she did so.

“How long a stretch we talking?”

_If I’m really going to go through on this trip with Wesley, I need to make sure John is taken care of in my absence._

“Three months’ worth at least?” she ventured. “If that’s asking too much-.”

“I’ll find a way,” Harleen assured, offering her a comforting smile. “It’s not like you’re asking me to hurt someone. If this medication will help your friend, I’m happy to be an indirect source to that healing. I don’t know how long you plan to hang around today, but I can have everything ready by seven this evening.”

Her heart swelled at the thought of relieving the bags under John’s eyes and getting her friend back once and for all.

“I have to run a few errands but can return later. What is it you want exactly? An off the record interview? Just so I know what to prepare myself for.”

Harleen pocketed her notebook and pen.

“Have you ever been to therapy?”

“I have.”

She nodded.

“What I want isn’t too dissimilar. You’re not under scrutiny nor do I have any intention of laying judgment upon you. I’m going to ask you a series of questions and just want your perspective of Joker and what occurred between you two in the time you were his captive. It will help me so much, you have no idea. Should he ever see the inside of Arkham again, I’ll be better equipped to know how to keep him here and what sort of practices to bring to our sessions together.”

“Provided you get him as a patient.”

Harleen’s smile was confident.

“Dr. Arkham has all but promised him to me in the event he’s captured. Which is why your help will be so instrumental.”

Another buzz from her phone forced her eyes down to the device.

** _You okay?_ **

Sighing, Celine shook her head. This was without question one of the most uncomfortable alliances she’d ever forged. It’s not that she didn’t want Dr. Quinzel to finish her profile and succeed. The woman was beautiful, full of drive, and accommodating. Had they met under differing circumstances; she’d have probably scouted her for her app.

But the intensity of her hyperfixation…especially from a position where she was encouraged to remain as objective as possible…she couldn’t help but feel she was leading a mouse into a wolf’s den.

“Okay,” she agreed. “One session, I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Her blue eyes brightened.

“Excellent!” She extended a hand. “Shake on it and it’s a deal.”

They shook hands; Celine forcing herself to focus on the outcome. John would have access to medicine again. She would _not_ lose him to Scarecrow.

“I have to get going,” she said. “Do you want me to find your office when I come back this evening?”

“That’ll be perfect. I’ll give the desk clerk a heads up you’ll be stopping by again. Thank you so much, Celine. You…you have no idea how many lives we’re going to save when this is all over and done with.”

She didn’t feel nearly as optimistic as Harleen but matched her smile anyway.

Bruce and Dr. Suarez were deep in conversation by the time she arrived. She handed Bruce his coffee and shook hands with the doctor.

“I wish we were meeting under better circumstances,” he commented, lowering his hand and picking up a file. “This here is the entirety of my conversations with Miss Graves over the course of six months. I uh…I neglected to mention…I gave her my work number and we did talk twice over the phone. Unfortunately, I don’t have any documentation of those conversations. If I had…I’m afraid I probably could have helped our case a little bit more.”

She flipped open the file; Bruce coming to stand over her shoulder so he could read.

“How’s that?” she asked.

Dr. Suarez took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

“It was only over the phone that Miss Graves revealed to me from the ages of eight to eleven she was sexually abused by her mother’s then boyfriend. Her mother didn’t believe her until she walked in on him attempting to perform oral sex on her. She never received therapy for this.”

Bruce looked up.

“Is there any way to get proof of the abuse? I guarantee this Graves woman won’t let the court know that detail.”

“Unfortunately, besides her mother, I was the only other person she’d confided this too. You would have to have-.”

Her phone dinged once. She peeked at the number, momentarily tuning out of the conversation.

** _Watcha doing at the looney bin? Finally take the plunge and decide to commit Wayne?_ **

Rolling her eyes, she pocketed her phone.

She and Bruce got to work reading every word of the fifty-some pages of chat log data. Not even halfway through and her phone dinged again. She ignored it.

It dinged several more times before Bruce tore his gaze from the pages and looked at her.

“You’re fine to respond, it won’t hurt my feelings any.”

“It’s nothing important.”

No sooner than she said this her phone began to ring. She internally groaned, half-tempted to shut it off entirely. But the thought of Aesop suffering because of her dissuaded the idea.

“I’m so sorry, I have to get this. I’ll be right back.”

The second she stepped out into the hallway; she answered the call.

“**_What?_**”

“Well _someone’s_ got a case of the grum-**_ps_**.”

She lowered her voice and took a few breaths.

“Blowing up someone’s phone will do that to you. Unless what you have to say is a matter of life or death, I’m hanging up.”

“Mmm…I wouldn’t do that sweets. Not unless you wanna see me flay Aesop alive. I could make him into a quilt for ya if you’d like. We can _cuddle_ in it.”

She started to pace, willing her aggravation away. It wouldn’t do negotiating with him while wound up.

“Okay, you have my attention,” she said. “What is it you want?”

“Just wanted to see what my girl was up to. Did ya like my video?”

Frowning, she paused in front of a wall.

“It was unnecessary. He was resigning and leaving the city. You would have gotten what you wanted.”

“Mmm…not _quite_. He was getting off way too easy. Why should he skirt by with his life when his fellow constituents didn’t get that luxury? I was tying _up_ a loose end.”

“How thoughtful of you,” she muttered.

“I thought so too!”

Suppressing a groan, she ran a hand through her hair.

“I really have to get going,” she told him, glancing at Dr. Suarez’s door. “Today…isn’t a good day.”

“And _uhh_ why’s that?”

“Work related stuff.”

“What sorta work related stuff?”

“Stuff that relates to work.”

“Hmpf…you’re being evasive. I’m gonna find out one way or another, so why not save me the trouble and tell me, hm?”

“Save you the trouble? Have you met me?”

His boisterous cackle had her smiling into the phone. Why did making him laugh make her stomach feel all tingly?

_Maybe I oughta hunt down Dr. Quinzel and put her on the phone. _

“Such a sharp little tongue. Ya know there are better uses for it…I have a few _suggestions_.”

She looked up when Bruce opened the door to the office. Joker was still babbling as she brought the phone to her chest.

“Sorry, just a friend checking in. We haven’t spoken in a while. I’m nearly finished.”

“Dr. Suarez has a staff meeting in a little bit. He wanted to go over Elle’s mental state prior to her suicide.”

“I’ll be right in.”

He returned to the office, leaving the door parted a little.

“I really can’t talk anymore,” she said. “Sorry.”

“Ahh Dr. Suarez…I once killed his parakeet. Notice how he’s got a bird cage in his office but no birdie? Ask him about it…I’m sure he _looooves_ recounting that story.”

“Goodbye Jack.”

She flinched at using his name. The more they interacted, the more human he seemed. What were humans without their name?

“_Fiiiiine_. No use talking to ya when you’re being such a grouch.”

“Thank you. I’ll talk to you la-I mean um…catch you later…alligator.”

She stared up at the ceiling, mouth forming around a silent scream. How was he able to reduce her to such an awkward, rambling mess?

He was dead silent, prompting her to think she’d stunned him into silence. If only it were that easy.

“_Mmm_…I bet you’re blushing up a storm right now. Looking like a cute little tomato that I just wanna squish in my hand and run my tongue along-.”

“_Goodbye_.”

She hung up and took a moment to compose herself (and yes, rub the redness out of her cheeks too). When sufficiently collected, she returned to the office.

“I’m really sorry about that, Dr. Suarez. I know how valuable your time is.”

“We all have busy lives, Miss Harlow. I understand.”

Her eyes shot to the empty bird cage by his desk. She quickly averted her gaze and cleared her throat.

“Miss Graves’ behavior up until the week before her death,” he began, “was fairly consistent. I would receive her messages the same time each Wednesday. Having a routine gave her security; she didn’t cope well with change. Knowing this about her, a variety of factors may have played a part in her death. It is obvious one of her triggers was set off…perhaps she was in an intimate situation or she may have been touched, even a brush on the shoulder, without permission. I only know that the week before she died, there was an undercurrent of hysteria in her messages. She was very insistent on scheduling an official appointment with me. I attempted – as you’ll note in the transcripts – to ask numerous times if there was something wrong. Her response was…peculiar.”

Celine glanced at the papers in Bruce’s hand. He was one step ahead of her, skimming the very last page.

“_I saw the most awful thing on television_,” she read, brows furrowing. “Did she specify what it was?”

“I’m afraid not. It is possible she was flipping through the channels, put it on something, and a scene depicting sexual abuse came on. There really is no knowing for sure. I…_ahem_…I do know that I very much wish she was still with us. She was a gentle soul and her time on this Earth was far too brief.”

He blinked a few times, staring at the floor.

“If the judge doesn’t toss out the lawsuit,” Bruce input after a moment of silence, “you’ll be called on to testify. Is that feasible for you?”

“I’ve spoken with Dr. Arkham about potentially taking some time off. Not just for the trial, but in general. I’ll admit…this one is going to be on my conscience for a while. I…may want a break from participating in _Oz_ as well.”

“Take all the time you need off,” she encouraged. “None of this is on you…I hope you know that. From the sounds of it her mother had more of a role in her suicide than anyone else. I’m not going to let her smear your reputation because of her negligence.”

Dr. Suarez’s nod was timid. She thought back to her mental and emotional state following Cathy’s suicide.

“You…you always think you could have said more,” she recalled. “If I had had the words, maybe I could have…healed them…just a little bit anyway. Enough for them to still be around. Elie Weisel’s grandson said it best…if I love you more, will you suffer less? The reality guts you…you can’t make up for the love someone else lacks. You can only hold their hand and help them try to love themselves. I know it’s tempting in the aftermath to burden yourself with what ifs, but that only prolongs our grief. I…would choose to focus on the good. That girl…she had no one to pour her trauma into. She sat with it for years…she watched it shape her. My only regret is that you two didn’t encounter each other sooner. If you had, there’s no doubt in my mind she would still be around.”

“I-that’s very kind of you, Miss Harlow.” He readjusted his glasses. “Thank you.”

“Do you want me to send out a message to _Oz’s_ patients that you’ll be taking a leave of absence?”

He shook his head.

“I’ll tell the ones I’ve been helping from the beginning, personally. And recommend a doctor on the app with a similar specialty as mine so they don’t feel abandoned.”

“May we hold on to these?” Bruce asked, clutching the file of papers.

“Please do. I…don’t need them to sit around as a reminder.” He glanced at the clock. “I’m afraid I need to get going shortly…if there is anything else I can do for either of you, give my personal cell a ring. And let me know how the claim goes tomorrow…I can’t imagine her getting far with the lawsuit when you had such specific provisions in place to protect yourselves.”

“Let’s hope the court sees it that way too,” Bruce agreed. “Thank you for your time, doctor.”

They exchanged a final set of handshakes before following Dr. Suarez to the elevators. He parted from them on the sixth floor; they were silent on their way down to the front desk.

“Are you feeling any better about this?” he asked when the doors opened.

“Not as overwhelmed as I was yesterday,” she admitted. “Elle’s trigger…if we find out what it was, it’ll guarantee the lawsuit gets tossed. I can feel that’s the answer to all this.”

He nodded beside her.

“And physically…how are you holding up?”

“The pain is dull…I need to keep moving and not let myself focus on it. What time are we meeting with the lawyers?”

He looked down at his watch as she opened the entrance door for him.

“In about an hour. Did you want to grab something to eat quick?”

They continued to the parking lot side by side.

“Heck yes. Your choice seeing as you’ve been bending over backwards for me these past few days. And I don’t care how much you protest, I’m paying.”

“No protests from me,” he said, raising his hands in a defensive pose. “What was it you thought I was before you got to know me? A “pampered, willfully ignorant pickled loaf of bread?” Everything else was true, but I never understood the pickled loaf part.”

She giggled at his puzzled face.

“It’s one of my least favorite deli meats…my mom loved to splurge when she had the money for it. I remember getting home from a party one night, cross faded as anything, and going through an entire pound of it. Vomited for six hours straight. Gagged for a full year anytime I smelled pickles, or anything pickled. It’s one of the worst things I could compare you to.”

Bruce snorted, opening the passenger door for her.

“What an honor,” he grumbled.

Just as he went to start the car, she got another ding from her phone.

_To any entity invested in maintaining my sanity, please let me survive this day without losing it._

** _Aww aren’t you two just looking cozy as ever _ **

She huffed. This would descend quickly into an argument if she didn’t nip it in the butt right away.

_When in doubt, weird them out._

The last time she took this advice, she ended up tickled into unconsciousness. Perhaps it wasn’t wise…

Her fingers were typing before she could convince them otherwise.

** _I’m cozier with you ; )_ **

God, did she just send that? Yes…she really did.

He, thankfully, never responded. She was sure she had him stumped and felt all the better for it. Their meal would at least be peaceful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize I write Bruce as the best friend I never had. Ten for you, Bruce Coco. 
> 
> Happy Coronapacolypse everyone! I'm considered "essential" personnel at my shitty minimum wage job and I just LOVE it. But it's not so bad really...I at least have a means of income and a roof over my head and whenever I have downtime at work, I'm working on chapters for this because my boss is laid back and so long as you get your work done, you can do whatever. This prompts a lot of customers to ask me what I'm working on...describing fanfiction to a sixty-some year old is a trip. I get all tongue-tied when they refer to it as my book because fanfiction is such a abstract, freeform of expression...I don't consider what I write novel-esque...novels are serious, ya know? 
> 
> Fun fact, the characterization for Gil was based off a real customer experience I had...I'm in tune with my intuition and everything told me this guy was not only unstable, but evil. I never in my life got such a feeling of impending doom and discomfort from someone...we also close at midnight, sometimes later, and I work that closing shift by myself...sooooo I got into the habit of bringing my machete to work and keeping it under the counter as well as a big ass can of ant/wasp spray with a little nozzle for precise aiming *pew pew*...I was ready for him should he have snapped.  
He ended up getting arrested for beating the crap out of his disabled girlfriend...we then found out he had a warrant out for his arrest from Ohio (can't y'all just chill?). He wasn't supposed to leave the state because he was on parole for serving time for beating ANOTHER girlfriend nearly to death with a tire iron. Trust your vibes people!! (Also, quarantine Ohio). 
> 
> I hope you're all safe and together with your loved ones and take this free time to recuperate from the stresses of work and get some much needed rest in.


	17. Chapter 17

Their meeting with the three lawyers who had helped word the clauses in her app’s terms and conditions lasted roughly two hours. They all needed to be in court at nine o’clock the next morning and were currently being prompted on potential questions the judge might ask regarding who was liable for Elle Graves’s death.

She was reassured numerous times that the lawsuit didn’t have strong enough legs to stand on and would get tossed, but she couldn’t tell if they truly believed this or were just trying to comfort her.

In the midst of hour two, she could feel some of the pain start to return in both her hand and bottom lip. Joker had, after all, practically sliced it open with his teeth. The pain made her want to take just a short little rest so she could get her mind off it.

Their lawyers had all the evidence they needed to make a solid defense and after a few more last-minute questions, they all promised to see each other the next morning at the courthouse.

As Celine exited the law firm, a nauseating wave of dizziness struck her. Her vision momentarily went blurry as her knees crumbled.

A few seconds later Bruce was helping her off the sidewalk, staring down at her in concern; brushing a stray lock of hair out of her eyes.

“You’re not okay,” he stated.

She shook her head.

“Just need to take my medicine is all. I’m fine, really.”

“Celine-.”

“Bruce…I’ll have all the time in the world to rest tonight. I just need to make it through these next few hours. I got it, promise.”

He pursed his lips before guiding her back to her feet with an arm around her back. She stayed glued against his side, tipping forward slightly so she could bury her face in his chest.

_I should ask Jack what cologne he was wearing and get it for Bruce for his birthday. _

She was too mentally exhausted to question the coherency of such a thought. Could anyone encounter Joker without going a little mad? Why couldn’t she stop referring to him by his real name?

“Do you want me to carry you?”

His chest rumbled as he spoke. She looked up at him with an arched brow.

“Seriously?”

His lips quivered. In an instant, he was bent on one knee, gesturing his head backwards.

“Hop on, mademoiselle. Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?”

She giggled into her hand, eyeing him with a tilt of the head.

“Is that the only French you know?”

“It’s the only French that’s been relevant enough to remember.”

Ignoring the stares they were receiving – from an outsider’s point of view it very nearly looked like Bruce was getting ready to propose to her – she slung both arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his muscular torso.

“Comfy?”

“Mmm…_very_.”

He stood as if she weighed nothing and began their journey to the parking garage one block away. She relaxed against him, chin coming to rest on his shoulder.

Her animal instincts alerted her she, specifically, was being watched. It was similar to having had Aesop trailing her. However, she was too content in her position to trouble herself any further over it. Maybe if he gave piggyback rides instead of blowing politicians up for fun, she might be a little more receptive to his advances. The thought made her chortle into Bruce’s back.

It was nearing six o’clock by the time they made it back to the car. Once inside she took her medicine and practiced some hand exercises as Bruce drove them across town to meet with Martha Graves and extend her condolences. Elle’s viewing had been earlier in the day and she hoped to catch the woman on her own so she could speak, one on one, from the heart.

The closer they got to the funeral home the quieter Bruce got.

“I’ll wait in the car,” he reconfirmed, pulling into the parking lot. “Unless you need my help-.”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured. “Wish me luck.”

He grimaced.

“You’ll need it,” was all he said.

The funeral home was located in a more residential area just on the outskirts of the city. There weren’t many cars in the lot – four others if she excluded Bruce. The idea of Elle dying with so few people to mourn her had her heart swollen with agony.

She followed a hallway laden at the sides with bouquets of dark-toned flowers. The lighting was dim and from a distance she could hear an organ playing Frederic Chopin’s “Funeral March”.

Upon entering the room where the viewing was taking place, she frowned. Besides the organ player the room was empty save for a woman bent down on both knees in front of the casket. Her head was casted down, and she was mumbling quickly under her breath.

As Celine got closer, the words became more intelligible.

“-though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me-.”

She’d had the good fortune to only attend three funerals in her life (relatively light compared to the average Gotham citizen). Technically it would have been five, but she couldn’t muster the courage to attend either Kathy’s or her mom’s. She hadn’t had the strength. But from the three she had attended; she recognized the funeral prayer Martha Graves was muttering. 23rd Psalm. Though areligious, this prayer had always been one to comfort her. It reminded her death was only a stage in the journey. It was only the end if you assumed the story was about you. Something about the removal of self and life still going on regardless…it eased her.

Just as Martha was ready to re-launch into the beginning of the prayer, she cleared her throat, hands hovering awkwardly at her sides.

The woman froze. She was heavier-set, though not obese. Her legs and calves were lean and muscular while her upper torso was a little bulkier. Brown hair that looked like it was naturally curly had been straightened and pinned out of her face by two butterfly barrettes. Her dress was a monochromatic black ending just below the ankle and most of her face was obscured by a black mourning veil.

Her eyes traveled from Martha to Elle. Having glimpsed only the back of her in her dream, it was nice to finally examine the front.

“How did you know my angel?”

She didn’t once turn around as she asked this. Her voice sounded like she’d been crying all day.

“I…through a mutual friend. I’m so, so sorry for your loss. Nothing I say will help ease the pain, but I do hope it eases…”

Martha brought a hand up to her eyes. It was clutching a damp Kleenex. She dabbed away her tears.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “It’s been…difficult seeing her like this all day. I keep expecting her to open her eyes and wake back up. But…it’s better I suppose than seeing her when I found her.”

Unsure of what to do, she settled on comforting the woman. One hand went to rest on her shoulder.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

She sniffled and shook her head.

_I don’t know that I should even bring up the app at this point. It’s clear she’s devastated. Maybe I’m just meant to be here with her, so she at least has someone. _

They stayed like that for a solid ten minutes, neither speaking nor moving. It was only when Martha was moving to stand up that she finally dropped her hand from the woman’s shoulder and backed a step away, so she had room to breathe.

The second Martha’s amber-colored eyes landed on her; it was like a light switch had been flipped.

“You!”

She voiced this with such venom Celine ended up taking another step back, staring back and forth between the finger pointed at her and the suddenly hostile expression being aimed at her.

“You-you’re that-that reprehensible woman! You’re the reason my baby lost her life.”

Dumbfounded, she tried to say something. _Anything_. But her brain was buffering like the world’s slowest loading screen.

Martha covered the distance between them, reached her right hand back and smacked her soundly across the cheek. 

“False hope! That’s what you gave her. Nothing but lies and empty words. May the Devil punish you to the fullest extent possible.”

She jumped upon feeling something wet strike her right below the eye.

_Did she just spit at me?_

“M-miss Graves-,” she stuttered out, wiping the saliva off her, “-I promise I only came here to check on you and make sure you’re doing okay. If it’s an apology you need, I’ll give you a thousand. It was never…_never_ my intention to make your daughter’s situation worse. I swear all I wanted was an outlet for people like her…like me who had no one at a time when they needed someone most-.”

“And you’re saying _I_ wasn’t there for her?” she demanded, hands swinging through the air. “You’re saying some online sham of a doctor could help her better than her own mother?”

_Yes_, was resting on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t want to make the woman lose it.

“Of course not…I just-if we could sit down to talk some time I can show you how the app works and you can meet Dr. Suarez who cared about your daughter so very much-.”

“OUT!” she screeched, throwing a hand toward the door. “Get out! You thieves! I implore you to be obedient like Jesus Christ, who obeyed his heavenly Father unto the cross. And to stand without moving out of my sight, in the name of the Trinity, I command you by the power of God and the incarnation of Jesus Christ not to move out of my sight, like Jesus Christ stood on Jordan’s stormy banks to be baptized by John-.”

Her voice boomed through the room. The organ player had long ago abandoned Chopin. Celine’s heart was beating so hard she thought it was going to accelerate out of her chest.

When Martha finally ran out of oxygen for her half-crazed praying, she tried to extend the olive branch one last time.

“I know you’re hurting. I know exactly _how_ you’re hurting. Please…if there’s anything I can do to ease that pain, tell me. That’s all I want to do.”

Martha worked on regaining her breaths, the hostility making way for an expression devoid of any emotion.

“I-.” She re-adjusted her veil and straightened up. “I wish it had been you and not her.”

Her body jerked at this response.

“I’ll see you tomorrow in court. You will face judgment, one way or another,” she declared before turning around and dropping back down to her knees beside the casket.

She could only watch the woman with a parted mouth. The organ player slowly began to play again.

The walk to Bruce’s car felt like she was moving in slow motion. There were certain events that occurred where the surrealness was so numbing you didn’t really have the chance to process any of it. All you could do was rewind and replay it.

Bruce was on the phone when she entered the car. One look at her face and he was muttering a hasty goodbye to the person.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing out of his mouth.

She shook her head, staring down at her knees.

“You tried to warn me,” she answered. “I thought…I can get along with almost any sort of person. But she…oh god…poor, poor Elle.”

He rested a hand on her back, rubbing soothing patterns into it.

“Did she slap and spit at you too?”

His smile was wry.

“I got the spit treatment, but not the slapping, which is unusual for me.”

The lightness in his tone had her relaxing a little. Her eyes shot to the clock.

“Shit,” she murmured. “I’ve got a favor to ask. Could you drop me off at Arkham? I’ll take the bus back home. I met a new doctor when I went to get us coffee and I kind of wanted to squeeze in an interview with her, especially now that Dr. Suarez might be out of commission.”

“Are you sure?” he followed up, studying her carefully. “Today’s been a lot. For anyone. I’m honestly amazed you still have the energy to do anything else.”

“I just need to finish this up. After that I’m calling it a day.”

He considered this, thumb tapping against his steering wheel.

“What if I wait for you in the parking lot? I feel…wrong letting you overexert yourself, especially after taking that spill.”

“I don’t know how long the interview will last and you’ve already done so much for me already. You’ll need your rest too for tomorrow.”

His sigh was deep and drawn out.

“Alright. But if you have something similar happen again, call me. I’ll come get you.”

“Will do, thanks Bruce.”

On their way to the hospital Celine made an announcement. Her brain was sick of harping on Martha Graves. It looked to peachier horizons.

“I’m going to go with Wesley on his trip. If he hadn’t told you yet, we leave the day after my birthday.”

Bruce smiled and glanced at her.

“I’m glad to hear that. Really glad. I’m almost tempted to join you both. I don’t know how I’ll get by without my daily dose of Celine.”

She shrugged.

“I explicitly warned you addiction was possible. No better time to wean yourself off. I’ll text daily, depending on what country I’m in. Cool photos, surly men that remind me of you, the usual landmarks….and maybe some unusual. Dr. Ensinger recommended a castle in Germany and an island comprised of bunnies in Japan.”

“Okunoshima?”

Her mouth dropped.

“You know it?”

His shrug was casual.

“I may have read up on it. One of those nights I couldn’t sleep, and you start on one Wikipedia article and end up clicking on thirty different side links. It sounds…fun.”

She watched him through narrowed eyelids.

“I’ll send you pictures,” she assured.

“Pet them for me. Or don’t. I could care less.”

He was trying so hard to maintain his macho nonchalance that it only made her amusement grow deeper.

“A bat and a bunny walk into a bar,” she tried out. “They both have rabies and bite all the patrons. Everyone goes insane together.”

“Is that what would happen?”

“More or less.” She leaned back in the seat. “Also, if I survive this coming week intact, I’m going back to Maine for six days. One of these times you’ll have to come with me. See my childhood home. The school I went to. The diner my mom and I worked at. Meet my living relatives and old friends.”

“They’ll assume I’m your boyfriend.”

“Pfft…let them assume whatever the hell they want.”

His grin was wicked.

“If that’s the case, I’ll tell them I’m your sugar daddy.”

She choked on her own inhale.

“Please…dear god _please_ don’t do that. They will without question believe you. And you…_fuck_ you sorta are.” She tapped a few fingers against her chin. “But I also pay for some of your stuff too…so…does that make me your sugar daughter? What are the exact qualifications to be considered a ‘sugar’ something? How much sugar do you have to have? A whole bag? Just a few grains? If you get a sugar loan from the bank, does that count? Is there a manual on this I can rent out from the library? _A Dummy’s Guide to Sugar Daddies_?”

“I know what to get you for your birthday,” came his murmur.

They made some more small talk along the way. It was five to seven when Bruce’s vehicle pulled into the parking lot.

“Good luck and call me if you’re not feeling like making that trip home,” he told her through an open window.

She had all of her supplies earlier from the pharmacy/drug store, contained in a plastic bag slung off her elbow.

“Will do. Thank you again for setting everything up today and being my chauffeur. I’ll see you tomorrow morning bright and early.”

She blew him a playful kiss, of which he caught in his hand and smothered against his chest.

Just as he tore out of the parking lot, she headed inside, fingers typing out a text.

** _I’m picking up your medications right now. Can you meet me later this evening?_ **

His response was near instantaneous.

** _I see…would you prefer your apartment or-?_ **

She considered this on the way up the elevator.

** _Yeah, stop on by. You know where the spare key is. I’ll be home in about an hour hopefully. _ **

She’d not given this “therapy session” much thought since Harleen first suggested it. Her mind had been so focused on getting John his medication that she hadn’t decided on what to edit out and what to keep in, so the psychiatrist felt like she’d learned something new about her subject. So risking termination from her job was worth it.

_Omit anything sexual on my part. If he initiated it, that’s a reflection of him, not me. Harleen is here to study him, not me. Keep that in mind. _

Releasing a lengthy sigh, she paused outside of Dr. Quinzel’s office and gave the door a few heavy knocks.

***

She was dozing off when the bus hit a deceivingly shallow speed bump. Her skull struck the window, effectively waking her back up.

“Damn it,” she mumbled, wincing as her fingers prodded at her temple.

One quick glance around informed her she did indeed pass out sometime after getting on. Ten other people had been crowded in with her. Now it was just her, the bus driver, and someone a few seats behind her hidden beneath a gray hoodie. She’d have returned her attention back to getting some more rest in, but her eyes wandered back to the person behind her. They weren’t looking in her direction, but she got a very distinct feeling of eyes on her.

She pushed herself up and maneuvered into the aisle, taking slow, cautious steps toward the figure. They refused to react no matter how close she got, reclined in the same half-hunch; face tilted toward the window.

_This is how you piss off crackheads. Go back to my seat and mind my business._

Her hand had other ideas. Tentatively, she reached out and wrapped her fingers around the man’s shoulder. They still didn’t move. She tried giving him a light push. His body swayed slightly before returning to its position.

_No shit! Leave it to me to find a dead guy on the ride home. _

Just as she was about to turn and talk to the bus driver, the figure shot at her with fully extended arms. She tripped over her feet and fell backwards, landing flat on her ass. As she groaned, giggles erupted above her.

“Oh god damn it,” she groused, working on picking herself up.

Joker pulled down his hoodie, his makeup exactly as it had been last night. No reds or blacks, just a white sheen that made him look like a diabolical poltergeist.

“Ooh hoo hoo…you shoulda seen your face! Ah ah ahhhh!”

He mimicked her fall backwards, arms sprawling wildly.

Maybe it was the exhaustion of the day or being cursed out by a grief-ridden nut, but Celine just didn’t give any fucks about thinking first, acting later.

She lunged at Joker, one hand aiming for his hair, the other for the throat. He seemed legitimately taken aback by the assault; allowing her momentarily to get the upper hand.

One hand wrapped around his throat – tight enough that she could feel every time he swallowed. The other hand managed to weave into his dirty blonde locks, grasping the strands until she could control what angle to tilt his head. One knee sat on the outside of his, the other between his thighs just above his crotch. A warning. A threat.

Joker wasn’t nearly as intimidated as she had hoped he’d be. He kept licking at the sides of his mouth, eyes practically teeming with pleasure. There was no doubt he could reverse the power structure seeing as his hands were completely free, but it was clear he was studying her movements and reactions. It was the first time she’d physically lashed out at him. For him, it was like monitoring a science experiment.

She kept the pressure on his throat as the hand formerly in his hair, slid down the length of his torso. He shivered a little under the deliberate touch, eyes fluttering a couple of times; deep breaths puffing out from his nose. She stored that away for later. He did not get touched (consensually) very often.

When her hand found what she was looking for, she quickly extracted the knife from his hoodie pocket, flipped open the blade, and brought the tip to his jugular.

“Please…_please_ leave me alone. Go blow up a building. Set fire to a graveyard. Terrorize the mob. Hell, get Batman’s attention. Just…please…leave me b-.”

He snatched the blade out of her hand in the blink of an eye. She attempted to scramble off him, but he was too quick and his movements too fluid. Both of his arms hooked under her thighs and spread them out. With a rough tug forward, he now had her pelvis to pelvis, sitting on his lap, knees on either side of his; his large, calloused hands keeping a tight grip on each one of her ass cheeks.

She tried to move off him, but one of his hands squeezed her cheek while the other moved up and wrapped an arm around her back, pulling her further against him. One hand dug into his shoulder, attempting to keep their bodies from coming together.

“There,” he stated, grinning crookedly at her. “Much better seating arrangements, don’t ya think?”

“Let me go or I’ll scream.”

“Uhhh _no_ and be _my_ guest.” He raised his voice, peeking behind her. “Didn’t have to pay Ronnie much to buy his silence, did I? For someone who’s essential in getting Gothamites around, he sure isn’t paid all that much.”

Her teeth ground against each other.

“Whatever he’s paying you,” she yelled, still stuck in place, “I’ll double it. Stop the bus at an ATM and I’ll draw out the amount right now!”

The bus slowed ever so slightly.

“Oh no _no no no_,” Joker called up. “Ronnie, if you stop the bus, I’ll blow your brains out all over the windshield. Brain matter is _soooo_ tedious to clean up, take my word for it.”

The bus sped back up to its normal speed.

Her body slumped into his; thoroughly defeated.

Joker applied pressure to her lower back until she was laying against his chest, head tucked just beneath his chin and sternum. She sniffed him a few times, nose brushing against his pulse point. She swore she heard him purr, but it got stifled in his chest.

“You’re not wearing the cologne from last night,” she murmured against his throat.

“Fan of that, were you? I’ll uh keep that in mind.”

She didn’t say anything, eyes flickering. She didn’t put it past herself not to pass out on him. That’s how tired she was.

“You were a busy little bunny today, weren’t you?” he said, thumb stroking her back. “Been trying to piece it all together…the looney bin…lawyers…funerals…what’s the punchline? You’re terminal. No, no, no…_Wayne is_. I could always put him out of his misery early if you’d like.”

“Don’t you dare,” she mumbled sleepily. “Or I’ll have your balls.”

“Why wait? You’re more than welcome to have them now.”

She weakly slapped his opposite shoulder.

“Behave. I’m not getting arrested for indecent exposure.”

“Nothing _indecent_ about what I’m exposing.”

He rolled his hips once; already half hard against her. She bit down into his shoulder. The downside with khakis was they were made from a considerably thinner material than denim. Which meant each time Joker rubbed his cock against her, it felt like he could penetrate her if he so wished. The spread-out position of her thighs only heightened the sensitivity between her legs.

Joker’s fingers on her ass cheek dug deep into the flesh, kneading it playfully before landing a firm spank on the area. She muffled the sounds coming from her throat against his zip-up. Her body had somehow become putty in his hands and he was taking full advantage.

She leaned back a little, pulling away her crotch from his cock. He immediately tried to yank her back onto him, but she held fast, blinking wearily at him.

“I’m so tired. Tomorrows a big day. I need rest.”

“Mmm…and what’s happening tomorrow?”

She pretended not to notice how his grip tightened around her.

“More work-related stuff. Need sleep. Don’t care if it’s on you or in my bed. Fair warning, I do drool. And kick. And maybe bite, but only if I’m having a dream about food. I once ate a section of my pillow. It was mostly feathers. Much more delicious in my dream.”

“I ate a neighbor’s pet scorpion.”

She cocked a brow.

“As a dare?”

He shrugged.

“Bored.”

She snorted, averting her gaze. Something that stole the air from her lungs briefly resided in Joker’s eyes. A…she didn’t know what to identify it as. It wasn’t softness, nor tenderness. But it was warm…warmer than his usual mocking or psychotic expressions. And it was genuine. Boy oh boy was it. She was too afraid to let him know she picked up on it for fear of never seeing it again.

“You have to stop stalking me,” she told him, resting her temple against his shoulder. “Don’t you have havoc to wreak?”

“What you consider stalking, I consider…observing…_from a distance_. Told ya, you’re much too dangerous to be left unsupervised. Can’t have ya going and ruining another one of my grand productions.”

“Hire a P.I.”

“So you can seduce him into being _good_? Your fan club’s big enough as it is.”

“Hire a female P.I.”

He didn’t answer her on this one.

“It’s creepy is all I’m saying,” she whispered against him. “When it was Aesop, yes, still creepy, but I felt a sense of…safety oddly enough. I knew he wouldn’t let harm befall me. You on the other hand…I don’t trust you not to snap and kill me because you don’t like who I’m with or what I’m doing. That’s the root of it, I think. I don’t trust you not to kill me. And so long as I don’t trust you, I won’t meet you halfway.”

He was silent for so long she ended up bringing a palm up to his mouth to make sure he was still breathing.

“I was going to kill you,” he admitted so quietly she could barely hear him. “The night I broke free of my handcuffs in your apartment. It ah…would have been a quick death; you’re not one of those I want to prolong the suffering of.”

She reclined off him to study his eyes.

_Oh, he’s dead serious. _

“Why didn’t you?” she asked, voice remaining firm despite the apprehension paralyzing her body.

He offered her a half-shrug.

“You opened your eyes. Wasn’t-_ah_ expecting that.”

Ever so gently, she detangled herself from him. He put up a bit of a fight to keep her on his lap, but her persistence finally made him loosen his grip. One hand shot out and grabbed her chin. He peered into her eyes; analyzing her.

“You’re scared of me,” he murmured.

“I forgot who you were for a moment,” came her answer. “Thank you for reminding me.”

This seemed _not_ the thing to say. Just as he made to leap at her, she shot out her right arm, the bony interior of her wrist striking him square in the nose. He went to cup his nostrils with a hand. She shot out her knee and struck him in the crotch a second later.

As he worked on recovering, she sprinted to her original seat, gathered everything up as quick as she was able, and then pulled on the cord to stop the bus. Ronnie, thankfully, complied. She was out the doors the moment they were open and inside a taxi in under ten seconds.

Refusing to look back, she stared ahead as the cabbie sped them away from the bus. No more falling asleep in public transit. Lesson, among others, learned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've received some complaints that Celine won't give in to Joker...here's the thing...realistically...if I suspected a mass murderer and psychopath dug me...I would have reservations for a long, long time. Not just the ethical ones that come with being with someone who can murder another person without blinking an eye, but the self-preservation ones...will they end up killing me if I upset them or they grow bored with me? Celine enjoys being alive, Joker isn't someone she's willing to risk going all in for...not unless she has a good enough reason. It's a fine line she treads...and tread it carefully she does.
> 
> On a similar note...what does Celine look like? I mentioned a few scant details earlier in the story...I have no celebrity of reference in mind. She actually is based on a look I created on a fashion app where you are assigned a different sized and skin-toned woman to dress up and other people vote whether they like your outfit or not. I had to delete the app because I started to spend money on it and that was a sliiiiiiipery sloooooope. 
> 
> Thank you again for all the kind words and encouragements. I have no idea how many chapters it's going to take to finish this...I'd say we're nearing the halfway mark? But I refuse to let this virus take me without getting out what's in my head...write first, die later :)!


	18. Chapter 18

John had made himself at home on her couch by the time she arrived. He was deeply immersed in an episode of _My Strange Addiction_. A fifth of Jameson was resting between his legs; a fourth of the bottle already gone. 

“Fascinating,” he said to her as she set her bags down. “This woman…she cannot go a day without sniffing soiled diapers. She also enjoys chewing on them. What I wouldn’t give to have these individuals as patients...not so much to cure them, just to observe.”

She sat down next to him, eyeing his attire. Though no longer a practicing doctor (thus not needing to adhere to a formal dress code) John still liked to dress professionally. This, however, was not one of those times. He was clad in black, striped Adidas sweatpants and a dark maroon shirt carrying the emblem for the post-graduate psychology program at Gotham University. The stubble she’d seen on him last was shaven away and his glasses were tucked inside the collar of his shirt.

“Digging the casual look,” she mentioned.

He looked down at himself, as if only just remembering what he threw on today.

“Yes…the benefits of having you as a friend. There is no need to dress to impress.”

Her gaze dropped to the bottle between his legs.

“Indeed.”

“Did you want a little?” he asked, grabbing the neck of the bottle. “I know your past struggles with drinking, but you look like you could use it.”

She must not have been as crafty at hiding her exhaustion as she thought. And loathe as she was to admit it, Joker’s revelation about nearly killing her still had her nerves a little rattled.

“I shouldn’t,” she stated.

“I’ll cut you off after a glass.”

When she looked down at her hands, they were still shaking.

_I’ve got years of sobriety under my belt. I have control over this. My life doesn’t suck anymore. I don’t need to drink like it does._

“What the hell,” she said, standing back up. “You want a glass?”

“I’ll drink from the bottle and save you an extra dish to clean.”

“Have you eaten yet?” she called from the kitchen, sifting through her cupboard.

“Not since this morning.”

“Do you want me to throw a pizza in the oven?”

“So long as there are no anchovies on it.”

She returned to the living room a few minutes later, grabbing along the way the paper bags Harleen had procured for her.

“Should be all set for the next three months,” she said, plopping down next to him.

He stared at the medications; cheeks flushed from the whiskey.

“Might I know how you came to acquire these?” He opened one of the bags. “Not that I’m ungrateful…when I received your text, I re-read it three times to make sure I was seeing it correctly. I _am_ grateful…but I also do not want to put at risk your relationship with the hospital. I know how much you rely on their assistance for _Oz_.”

“I was getting coffee in the cafeteria and one of the newer psychiatrists recognized me from the news back when I got kidnapped. She’s assembling a psych profile on Joker. In exchange for all the information I knew, she got me your medicine.”

He shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Thank you, Celine. Truly.” He picked up her empty glass and filled it halfway. “Seeing as liquor nulls the medication’s effectiveness, I figured I would let loose one more time.”

She accepted the glass, thumbing it carefully. He watched her out of the corner of his eye. 

It took her a few attempts to get the first sip down. She would bring the glass up to her mouth, glance down at the liquor, take the glass away before bringing it back again. Three times she did this before she finally bit the bullet and took her first drink in seven years.

“Damn, that goes down smooth,” she noted, swishing the liquid inside. “Did we attain this by legal means?”

He smirked.

“Legality is…_subjective_.”

She giggled a little before reclining back into the cushions. They were silent for a moment as the program on TV went to commercial break.

“Are you in much pain?” he asked, glancing at her. “The bruises on your face appear to be healing well.”

“The painkillers kicked in so nothing aches more than it should. The sensitivity in my hand is probably the worst part. If I swing my arms too quickly when I walk it stings something fierce. Even the AC in here activates it.”

“My condolences on the loss of your pinky. I had heard from my inside person Gil has been dealt with. He is lucky I wasn’t the one to do it.” He was eyeing her bandaged hand thoughtfully. “I am surprised you did not spend today resting up.”

Her grimace didn’t go unnoticed.

“What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, unable to form the needed words. Another sip from her glass was taken.

“You are not your usual balanced self. Tell me.”

Shutting her eyes, she let her head slump back. Already she could feel the heat from the liquor course through her body. A buzz was fast approaching; consequence of having stayed sober so long.

“I’m getting sued,” she relayed quietly. “I’m due in court tomorrow to dispute it.”

When he turned his whole body to face her, she realized he would need specifics.

So, she launched into everything that had occurred since learning of the lawsuit, including the day’s events and meeting Martha Graves.

When she finished, John was frowning.

“She cannot seriously think she stands a chance of winning. If every person who lost someone to suicide tried suing the psychiatrist treating them there would be no practicing clinicians left. I would not trouble yourself over it. She is blinded by grief and needs to place the blame on someone. No court will take her claim seriously.”

“I think deep down I know that,” she acknowledged. “But…I still feel responsible. A part of me almost wants the judge to take her side so I can feel…adequately punished.”

He scoffed.

“You’ve always carried a need to atone for the actions of others. Actions outside of your control. The guilt you carried earlier in life after the deaths of your mother and friend…you are not fully purged of it all. Thus, it is only natural for you to find excuses to punish yourself. While it may momentarily feel just and right, in the long run it is detrimental.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d made this observation about her. As he’d gotten to know her better after their trial sessions for his serum had wrapped up, he’d diagnosed her with a case of “culpability complex”. She took on guilt that wasn’t hers to carry because for so long she was a passenger in her own life; watching on helplessly as those she loved suffered and passed on. Her inability to act in those moments, even if it was due to external mental health circumstances (depression), had traumatized her deeply. And even though she worked on being better at viewing situations objectively and not misconstruing them to the point of accepting undue blame, the need to take on that personal responsibility wasn’t entirely extinguished.

“I guess I needed to hear that,” she admitted. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“Without question,” he said, taking another drink. “My goal this evening is to help snap you out of it. You and I specifically thrive when we are at our most objective. It is time to return you there, kicking and screaming if I must.”

She grinned lazily; her face slightly numb, slightly tingly.

“I look forward to it.” She shot up suddenly and snapped her fingers. “I nearly forgot…I have something for you!”

John watched her hustle over to a glass book cabinet, swaying slightly from her buzz. She grabbed something off of the highest shelf and turned to him, hiding whatever it was she had behind her back.

“A thank you gift,” she explained, weaving toward him. “For risking your ass and helping me when you didn’t have to.”

Her smile was displayed from ear to ear. Shyly, she handed him a gift-wrapped book.

He opened it with a smile of his own, unable to combat the influence of her cheeriness.

“Ah,” he said, tracing the title of the book with a fingernail. “Levi-Strauss’s _Myth & Meaning_. A very welcome addition to my collection. Thank you.”

“An original one too,” she voiced excitedly. “Straight off the press from 1978. The last fourth of the book has some of his more personal, in-depth essays that were later omitted from future editions and submitted instead to anthropological journals. I uh…I hope you like it.”

“You are undoubtedly the best gift giver I’ve ever known. My father…he desperately sought to have an athletic son. Birthdays and Christmases were filled with jerseys of football teams I could never muster the patience to watch, or baseball memorabilia I later sold to classmates. He never understood…true power does not reside in the physical form, but the mental. You do. And this makes your gifts all the more special.”

His praise had her heart fluttering. She extended both arms. He stood, lumbered over, and enveloped her in a long, tight hug. The scent of whiskey and soap invaded her nostrils. She sunk further into his embrace.

“I’m so thankful for you,” she mumbled against his chest. “I shouldn’t be, but I am. That I’m such good friends with you despite our moral disagreements…it’s baffling, but it feels right. I can’t envision not having you in my life.”

“Mmm…the feeling is mutual,” he murmured into her hair. “If I did not have you to tether me to reality, I would not bother with medication. So long as I have your friendship, this state of mind is worth fighting for.”

They detangled, both blushing from the tenderness of the moment.

“It ah-” He cleared his throat. “It appears you have a long day ahead of you tomorrow. You are welcome to ask me to leave anytime.”

“Stay,” she insisted. “Having you here’s woken me up a little and I uh…I’d really prefer not to be alone tonight. You’re more than welcome to crash on the couch.”

He nodded before backing up a step. The Jameson apparently had him in its clutches. He stumbled and crookedly dropped into the cushions, one leg flying up and nearly knocking his medication off the table.

She tried to hide her snort of laughter but wasn’t all that successful.

“Yes…not in a fully functioning state…the couch will do.”

Grabbing her nearly empty glass, she tossed back the remaining contents before retrieving the plastic bags she dropped.

“I’m gonna get things put away and apply a coating of this hair dye…the black against my skin tone makes me look like I belong in the cancer ward of a hospital.”

John’s eyes shone with amusement as he studied her through his bangs.

“You look in search of a fix,” he noted, sucking in his lower lip. “Like you escaped rehab within twenty-four hours of being checked in and are willing to perform fellatio on the first dealer you encounter.”

Her eyes widened.

“Wow, thanks. Thanks for that image.”

“You’re welcome!” he declared.

The application process didn’t take longer than fifteen minutes, and by the time the dye was set in and ready to dry, the pizza was done. She sliced John and herself two pieces each before wandering back to the couch.

The Jameson was now tucked securely between his thighs; nearly half the contents drank. She offered him his plate and took the spot next to him.

John was content with continuing their marathon of _My Strange Addiction_ and she had no complaints. It made sense he would be so enraptured by the stories. He’d always been too self-disciplined to ever fall to the mercy of any addictions. However, his fascination piqued when watching individuals engage in addictions that were of a more…taboo nature. He would comment throughout the episodes on where he thought the addictions stemmed from: repressed sexual urges, antisocialism, a lack of early-on parental bonding, etc.

She listened on, adding her two cents when needed.

After the credits of the latest episode rolled in, she went to the bathroom to wash out the dye and towel her hair dry. The color wasn’t quite the silvery blonde she normally had (there was a bit of yellow undertones to it) but judging by her roots, it would return soon enough.

“Someone’s been texting you non-stop while you were in there,” he voiced upon her return.

She immediately stopped in her tracks.

Just then, her phone began to ring; drowning out the muffled voices on TV.

When she failed to move and answer it, he looked down at the device on the cushion beside him. Not thinking twice, he answered it.

“Greetings, Jonathan speaking. How may I be of service?”

His eyes widened. A strange sound got trapped in his throat.

“Well,” he replied so quietly she had to strain to hear him, “she’s enjoying her evening and would like to continue doing so. May I suggest reacquainting yourself with your right hand? You and I know it’s the closest you will ever get to her.”

Without waiting for a response, he hung up.

Her mouth dropped open.

“You didn’t just say that to who I think it was.”

John’s shrug was nonchalant.

“The better question,” he redirected, “is how he got your number.”

His tone wasn’t accusatory, but it was laced with undeniable curiosity. Maybe it was the liquor urging her to confide in someone, maybe John was just the right amount of relaxed not to scold her for her decisions, maybe she was tired of feeling so alone in this. Whatever the reasoning, she found herself sitting back down next to him and fiddling with her fingers.

“If I tell you why he has my number, I’ll have to tell you everything that led up to it. And everything that’s happened since.”

“Does Wayne know any of this?”

“A heavily edited version. I might lose him if I told the truth.”

He stroked his chin thoughtfully.

“I’ll admit…your relationship with him has me terribly intrigued. Partially because I did not think such a relationship was possible, particularly on his end. Tell me everything and perhaps we can make sense of the situation you’re in.”

She nodded and inhaled. This would be the first time she told anyone the full nature of her and Joker’s unorthodox acquaintanceship. It was equal parts nerve-wracking as it was relieving. But if there was anyone who could understand relationships that weren’t supposed to work, it was John.

Recalling everything – from the moment she awoke in the basement of the church to this most recent encounter on the bus – took just a little over a half hour. John had discarded the bottle of Jameson under the table to avoid the temptation of taking another drink. He was listening to her with the utmost seriousness, occasionally ‘hmm-ing’ under his breath or tapping at his chin.

“That’s all of it,” she finished, studying her feet. “I have a psychotic stalker on my hands who’s convinced himself we were made for one another and won’t allow me to say otherwise. But he could also kill me at any moment. Nearly did if not for a fluke. The worst part is…if he wasn’t so committed to this…alias…this “agent of chaos” he considers himself to be…I could see myself…maybe…I…_I don’t know_. I can’t afford to think like that. Because the moment I do, that’s when he’ll strike. And the voice in my head will boast _I told you so, I told you so_. And I’ll feel like such a fool for not listening to it.”

John stared at the television screen, not really watching what was happening.

“There is a lot to examine,” he finally said. “Behavior patterns to deconstruct…underlying meanings to decrypt…I will need to sit on this for some time and form my own interpretations. I will say this…I did not think he wished to kill you the night he escaped from his handcuffs.”

“He admitted to it!” she retorted. “It had been his first instinct after he escaped and if I wouldn’t have woken up when I did-.”

“Instinct,” John repeated, raising an index finger. “That is a very…_important_ word. What comes instinctively to someone like Joker? Self-preservation, nihilism, disorder…these are learned instincts, not organically acquired. For him to have fought them off when they are so deeply rooted…to have given you the chance, however small, to wake up…this is _crucial_. Yes, I don’t doubt he would have killed you…but a question to consider is how long would he have given you to open your eyes? Because judging from his actions after you had…to strip himself of key components of his persona and share a moment of such…profoundly _unusual_ intimacy…it stands to reason his instinct dictated you die, but something stronger willed you to open your eyes. He claimed he hadn’t expected it…this does not mean he didn’t want it to happen. He disobeyed his conditioned nature and you’re alive because of it. That he shared this information with you may be more meaningful than you think.”

She’d not even allowed herself to engage in that avenue of thought. It seemed so out of the realm of possibility. That she had come so close to dying in her own bed…that took priority first and foremost.

“Did I tell you he told me his real name?”

John’s head swung to her.

“No, you neglected that detail. What is it?”

She hesitated.

“I don’t even know if it’s his real one, he could have made it up.”

Truth be told, even if it was real, she felt strangely protective about it. Like she may be the only person still alive that knew it. And that it’d been one of the rare times he broke through his façade to hint at who he used to be long, long ago.

“I can’t ever lower my guard around him,” she confirmed, nodding as she did. “He is who he is and that’s all he’ll ever aspire to be.”

“Perhaps,” he remarked. “His intentions are notoriously difficult to anticipate. As I said, I’ll need some time to reflect on what you’ve told me. Discern what is an act versus what is bred out of some form of genuineness that is less Joker and more…_human_. I should mention…he exhibited similar behavior to what you’ve told me after I used my serum on him. Once the laughter had subsided, I attempted to provoke him into anger…not one of my prouder moments, he…got under my skin. You ended up being a topic of discussion and he remained adamant you would end up with him one way or another. Though, he also had the…_decency_…to try and work on sharing you with others.”

“How generous of him,” she murmured with no shortage of sarcasm.

John shrugged.

“He has a tendency to conquer anything in his path…that you’ve evaded him this long has forced him to take more extreme measures, such as surveying you as diligently as he has. I do not think he grasps that morality and affection are entirely separate entities. You could hold all the affection for him in the world…and I suspect there is some stored within you, something you should never feel shame for as its led you to me…but if your morals are uncompromisable and thoroughly established, they will make the decision for you in the end. Joker is keeping a close eye on you not just for the sake of trying to “win” you, but because he had, plain and simple, underestimated you. He is extremely proficient in reading people and categorizing them accordingly. You however…I think you have him for a loss. He continues to read you, study and analyze your actions and emotions, but despite this accumulated knowledge, you subvert his expectations whenever he thinks he has you figured. Because of this, you are a very dangerous type of woman, especially for him.”

She cocked her head.

“How do you mean?”

He examined his fingernails, considering how to phrase his suspicions.

“You know of the Madonna-Whore complex?”

“Men see women one of two ways,” she recalled. “Either virginesque and unblemished…platonically lovable due to their alleged purity, or promiscuous and seductive…sexually desirable for their alleged lack of modesty. The two supposedly cannot co-exist with one another. I don’t buy into it…men and women are far more complex than that…but I know plenty who see women that way.”

“In my less…matured years I was guilty of compartmentalizing women like so,” he admitted, looking rather bashful. “Only recently has the spectrum of how a woman is perceived, by armchair sociologists anyway, broadened from two categories to four: virgin, whore, mother, bitch. Purity, sexual attractiveness, wisdom, independence. As you said earlier, human beings are far too complex to be restrained to one category. But to truly grasp the depth of that complexity requires critical thought. And this, sadly, is something that is becoming less cultivated and encouraged in Western academia, and indirectly, society. If there is no desire for critical thinking, humans are then left to rely on the brain’s rapid compartmentalization process. Now, the brain is not necessarily concerned with accuracy when classifying other humans. It comes from a place of needing to establish order so as to easier navigate our environment. It is a means of making the unknown known.”

“Joker is a critical thinker,” she pitched in. “The dangerous part is he disguises it as insanity.”

“And you are equally dangerous because you are not only an array of all four categories but carry with you a very authentic sense of self that can only be reached through often painful, yet necessary self-reflection. You know who you are, you do not seek someone to tell you. This cocktail isn’t for everyone, would you agree?”

She crossed her arms.

“Yes…very relevant to why I don’t date.”

“And I don’t condemn you for that. Most would blame the cocktail for being too diverse and not themselves for lacking the taste buds to appreciate it.”

Her lips quirked up at that. Gods she appreciated John as a friend so very much.

“You are dangerous,” he repeated, “because you are complex. You are dangerous because you require critical thought. You are dangerous because you are adaptable and are willing to surprise yourself, but not compromise. You and Joker are so extremely similar…it’s astounding…I’ve never quite seen it as apparently as I do now. Playmates come together from opposite ends of the moral playground…so busy analyzing each other you’ve neglected to notice how closely your feet have wandered forth. Mmm…yes…much to consider. For both of us.”

She spent nearly five minutes soaking in everything John had said. Some of it was spot on, some of it spooked her, some of it made her uneasy, and some of it made her feel like butterflies were being launched into her tummy via a machine gun.

“Why do you think he killed Gil so grotesquely and made it a point to show me his dismembered parts?” she asked.

This one still puzzled her. She had been so sure Joker would have let Gil come after her and do his worst. He was his right-hand man. Possibly the most loyal one that’d ever worked for him. Why would he choose her over him?

“Torture is…_personal_,” John tested out, twiddling his thumbs. “Who was it you said Joker quoted?”

“King Hammurabi of Babylonia, author of the Hammurabi Code.”

_Speaking of, that would be neat to see at the Louvre. I’m sure Wesley would be on board._

“Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth,” he murmured. “Your knowledge of world civilizations exceeds mine, so correct me if I’m wrong. This saying…it was a means of retribution for those of the same social class?”

“Yes. Eye for an eye…the punishment inflicted has to fit the crime enacted. However, if someone of an inferior class committed a wrongdoing against someone from a superior class, it wasn’t unusual for the retribution to be death. Such ‘eye for an eye’ guidelines didn’t apply because it was considered so disrespectful.”

John stared at her. Very carefully. He didn’t speak.

“What?”

He hummed under his breath.

“Food for thought,” is all he ended up saying.

“No need to play coy. Share with the class, s’il te plait.”

_“_Non, je ne pense pas que je le ferai.”

She scowled.

“Connard.”

“Oui, j'en ai un,” he agreed. “Je vous remercie de me le rappeler.”

“_Prudent_. Ou je vais mettre un cactus en toi.”

His expression was incredulous.

“_Cactus_?”

“Oui.”

He rubbed his inner thigh back and forth.

“Perhaps I should rethink spending the night here.”

She couldn’t hold back her chuckle; him chiming in soon after.

“Ooh…you want to see something absolutely hilarious?”

“…depends on what it is,” was his cautious response.

Shooting up, she sprinted to her bedroom and retrieved her laptop. When she returned, John was staring up at the ceiling with one eye closed. He then switched to the other, giggling a little at the rapid switch in depth perception.

“I was waiting for a time to upload this. What do you think?”

She set the laptop on his lap. John unfolded his glasses and slid them on.

It didn’t take long for him to begin cackling; sounding more like Scarecrow and less of John. But she knew this was a result of what he was reading, not that his more villainous side was revving up to take control.

“Brilliant,” he praised, a half grin stuck on his face. “I’m honored to be one of his dislikes. Do you think anybody will take this seriously?”

“Only one way to find out.”

She clicked through a few disclaimers, agreeing to _Moonbeam’s _terms and conditions before uploading Joker’s dating profile.

“What will you do if he accumulates any matches?”

“Send nudes? Send bomb threats? Send in the clowns? I’ve not thought it through that far.”

“You really are out to drive him crazier than he already is, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know that that’s possible, but I’m certainly up for the challenge.” She moved to stand, folding her laptop shut. “Did you want a blanket?”

His nod was done through sleepy eyelids. She left to grab him her thickest duvet. He was just as thin around the midsection as Joker, but half the muscle.

Upon returning to the living room, she turned off all non-essential lights save for a five-foot lava lamp in the corner of the room that casted their surroundings into a violet-magenta glow. She dropped John off her blanket and deposited their plates in the sink along with her glass.

“Watch one more episode with me,” he yawned out, scooting over on his cushion to make room for her beneath the blanket.

“Sure thing, give me a second.”

She made sure to shoot Wesley a text before she forgot.

** _Okay. Let’s go. Send me your must-visit places. We’ll figure it out from there. _ **

Her thumb hovered over the send button before lightly tapping it.

When her alarm was set, she sank down next to John. He wrapped an arm around her waist and tucked her into his side, the side of his face resting atop her hair. They both relaxed back into the couch.

This most recent episode they were tuning into revolved around a woman addicted to her pillow. She took it grocery shopping with her, on car rides, to work…it was…absurdly charming, partly because it was such a harmless addiction. Odd, yes, but harmless. If you could become comfortable taking a pillow everywhere and brush off all the perplexed stares…surely, you could handle whatever life threw at you. So much fear resided in what society thought. What people thought. Strange that others could restrain your way of living when life was yours to live.

“Diagnosis doctor?” she mumbled as the episode was coming to an end.

“Possible miscarriage in her teenage years. The pillow supplements as the child she never got to bare.”

That was a fair assessment. She’d go with it.

“I forgot to mention…after my birthday I’m leaving the country for three months.”

John’s cheek slowly lifted off of her. He studied her through fluttering lashes.

“This is why you got me medication for such a lengthy period?”

“Mhm.”

“On your own or-?”

“Strangely enough, one of the other hostages Joker had kidnapped. We kinda hit it off.”

He attempted to smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Three months is a long time.”

She picked up on the carefully blanketed melancholy in his voice.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” she assured. “I wanted to give you the heads up but also…if there’s any locales or regions or events you think I’d enjoy or you yourself have always wanted to go…I’m all ears. We’re…hitting every continent.”

“Antarctica included?”

“Yes.”

“If I did not have a criminal history worthy of eternal solitary confinement, I would have loved to go with you.”

“And I’d have loved you as a companion.” Her smile fizzled out. “I’d have loved that very much.”

They were silent for a long moment. She utilized this time to turn off the TV and cuddle up closer into John’s side.

“Is Zdzislaw Beksinski still your favorite painter?” he finally voiced.

“Mhm.”

“I should like to see some paintings from his gallery in Poland. There is also Angkor Wat in Cambodia…very architecturally pleasing temples.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Beksinski’s gallery was already a must for me. I’ll add Angkor Wat to my list. I was watching this documentary on native species in Madagascar and they have these trees there…the baobab…with such unusually wide trunks you’d think you landed on an alien planet. I’ll die happy if I can touch one.”

“Send me photos I suppose…it is the closest I will ever get to experiencing it myself.”

“I will.”

She didn’t expect how bittersweet telling John would make her feel. Yes, he’d dug his own grave with his past actions, but maybe getting away from Gotham was what he needed too. There would be so much to experience, so much to explore…perhaps his more unstable urges would subside for a little while at least.

“Maybe we could sneak you through baggage claim?”

When he didn’t answer, she glanced at him. His eyes were closed, mouth lightly parted. A snore traveled out of him.

As quietly as she could, she slipped out of his hold and laid his slumbering body down on the couch. After tucking his blanket around him, she capped his bottle of Jameson and placed it in a brown bag. He would most likely be gone by the time she woke up, so she threw his medication and his book in as well.

“I wish we had met a lot earlier.”

His brow twitched at the proclamation.

She returned to her bedroom and succumbed to a much-needed rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anywhere y'all recommend Celine should hit up in her excursion 'round the world?


	19. Chapter 19

By the time Bruce swung by early the next morning, Celine had a steady caffeine buzz going. As she had suspected, John slipped out sometime after he’d woken up. She made herself some coffee, showered, re-bandaged and re-dressed her hand, watered the wilting flowers, took all of her medications, received an excited text back of confirmation from Wesley, and was munching on a banana when Bruce knocked on the door.

He eyed her outfit with a – _dare she say it_ – impressed scan.

“Why do you look better in a suit than I do?” was his first comment.

She was geared in matching pinstriped navy-blue pants, vest and jacket – all tailored perfectly to her curvy form. A white dress shirt rested beneath the get up with a silver tie tucked tightly into the vest. Her shoulder-length hair had been hand-brushed with mousse, giving her blonde locks a wavy, tousled appearance.

“Genetics.” She shrugged. “Do you want a bite of my banana?”

His lips twitched.

“That’s not a question many men can get away with asking. I’m fine, thank you. How’re you feeling?”

“Better,” she admitted. “John stopped by last night-.”

Immediately, his expression grew stormy.

“-so I could give him his medication,” she finished. “He’s going to be on what he was when he was in Arkham, as well as something else that can hopefully stabilize his more…malevolent mood swings that usually cause Scarecrow to take control. We discussed the lawsuit…he’s convinced it’ll fall through.”

He absorbed all the information she’d unloaded on him.

“How did you manage to get him medicine?”

“I did a favor for a psychiatrist at Arkham. They returned it in kind.”

She could tell he wanted to hound her further on this, but the prospect of one of his nemesis being on medication appeared to dissuade him.

“So, he’ll be…what, neutered?”

“His better half will have full reign. Scarecrow will be…muted, so to speak. He’ll get words in, but it’s ultimately on John to make decisions.”

“Let’s hope those decisions won’t get him locked up again. This favor the psychiatrist owed you…dare I ask?”

“Probably not. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this before, but you are a more…law abiding person than I am. That’s not to say I make it a point to break them…I’m a good girl…for the most part. But if getting medicine – however morally ambiguous the transaction was – will help deter a threat like Scarecrow, I’m willing to make that decision. You’re not. That’s nothing against you, I’d love to have that clean of a conscience, but sometimes murky choices need to be made – on the premise they don’t harm anyone - to prevent larger catastrophes from occurring. Does that make sense?”

“Yes…I know your heart comes from the right place. Sometimes, I wish I could easily make those decisions too. I suppose that’s why you’re such an invaluable friend to me.”

“So, we’re cool?”

She offered him her fist.

He bumped it.

“Yes, we’re…cool. I’m glad he was able to help alleviate some of your worries. Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

The drive to the courthouse didn’t take longer than a half hour and was done in relative silence. Celine didn’t let on that she dreaded seeing Martha Graves again; though she believed this feeling to be mutual. Amazing how much of a stir this woman had caused in such a short period of time.

Their attorney greeted them on the steps, looking far more chipper than he had a right being. Then again, perhaps his attitude alluded to how the appeal would turn out.

Martha Graves was seated with her attorney when she and Bruce entered the courtroom; not so much as sparing them a glance. Her hair was tightly wound in a bun and she was outfitted in a dark fuchsia dress with a black cardigan thrown over top. Every so often she would dab at her eyes with a tissue. Immediately, her attorney would pat her soothingly on the back.

She and Bruce barely resisted the urge to roll their eyes.

“You got this,” he encouraged before she took her place up front. “Our motion to dismiss makes a lot more sense than her complaint. It won’t take long for the judge to see this.”

“What if the judge can’t see beyond the tears? It doesn’t look good on me to appear so stoic and for her to be so…_so_…devastated.”

“Cases aren’t won with theatrics. If she doesn’t realize that, she’s in for a rude awakening.”

Before she took her seat, Taj arrived in a gray suit that looked suspiciously like the one he’d planned to wear to her funeral.

_Let’s hope that’s not a sign of things to come._

“I’m here as emotional support. Good luck!”

He and Bruce took the bench closest to her table.

The overseeing judge – Judge Shapiro – started out by asking Martha’s attorney to read through the complaint being filed.

Celine nearly went into cardiac arrest upon realizing the complaint had been reworked since she’d read it yesterday with her lawyers. On top of the negligence she was being accused of, the settlement amount Martha requested had skyrocketed from $225,000 to $1.3 million. In addition to the complaint was a request for Dr. Suarez to undergo a mandatory hearing with the State’s Psychology Licensure Association so they could assess whether his actions were grounds for revoking his psychologist license.

Her attorney, thankfully, refused to let this slide.

“Neither I nor the defendant were made aware of alterations to the complaint; neither were we given an updated version of the motion filed.”

“A letter was sent to the defense stating two versions of the complaint existed and either could be filed, Miss Graves’ wishes permitted,” the opposing attorney returned. “In light of…recent events, Miss Graves opted for the latter complaint rather than the former the defense received.”

Her attorney shook his head and brought out a paper from his opened briefcase.

“The letter in question reads “_the two complaints vary only in the settlement amount requested_.” There is no mention of liability falling onto Dr. Suarez.”

She briefly tuned out of the back-and-forth battle of specifics and closed her eyes, fingers interlocking with each other.

_By “in light of recent events” does he mean my meeting with Martha? Did I leave that wretched of an impression on her that suing for $225,000 wasn’t enough? Advertisements aside, $1.3 million isn’t going to be an easy deficit to recover from. She could ruin me if the judge upholds her claim. _

Her phone vibrated under her right thigh. In her nervousness, she’d forgotten to turn it off prior to entering the courtroom.

As subtly as possible, she glanced down. The message was from John.

** _They are bickering back and forth like children. I am surprised the judge is allowing it. _ **

She straightened up, so very tempted to look behind her. Knowing he was there brightened her demeanor somewhat. Joker had it right. Bruce, Taj, John…she really did have her own fan club.

Judge Shapiro – seemingly having had enough of the oscillation of technicalities – called for a short recess in which he asked to read over the letter Martha’s attorney had sent them regarding the two “potential” claims.

During this time, Martha stood and excused herself to the bathroom. When Celine turned around, her brows furrowed. John was nowhere to be found.

_How does he know what’s happening? _

She walked over to Bruce and Taj with a poor attempt at a smile.

“I know what section of that letter she’s trying to twist,” Bruce grumbled, looking the most agitated she’d ever seen him. “It was in the second to last paragraph…remember the sentence…“_Miss Graves’ emotional state permitting, slight alterations may be added up to the date of the claim”…_she had to have changed that early this morning. But not so early that we could get a copy of the update. I-.”

He ran a hand through his slicked back hair.

“-I have not loathed a person this strongly in a very long time.”

“I’m the reason she changed it, aren’t I?” she digested. “If I had never gone to see her last night and mentioned Dr. Suarez-.”

Bruce waved her off before she could descend down that rabbit hole.

“She would have done that to spite us had you met with her or not. This is all very intentional and I can only hope the judge recognizes that.”

Martha returned just as Judge Shapiro ended the recess. Her face was pale as a sheet and every so often she would swipe at beads of sweat that had pooled at the back of her neck.

Celine didn’t have long to contemplate this change of mood. Judge Shapiro cleared his throat and declared Martha’s additions to the complaint to be sound, though he strongly advised her attorney in future documents to use more clear, concise language to avoid confusion.

She didn’t have to turn to her attorney to know he was absolutely fuming. Personally, she was feeling a little defeated. She had never before met a person who had it out for her so badly. It wasn’t even a side effect of grief at this point. Something about her made Martha want to bury her into the ground and keep her there.

“And now the defense will read the action for dismissal,” Judge Shapiro stated, gesturing to her attorney.

He stood with the three pages she, Bruce, and their counsel had arranged and approved the day prior. Clearing his throat, he opened his mouth.

“Wait!”

Everyone’s heads shot to Martha.

She was glaring down at her lap, biting painfully into her lip.

Judge Shapiro’s brows furrowed. Her attorney appeared just as perplexed.

“I-.” She swallowed harshly. “I am revoking my complaint against Miss Harlow and her app. I…offer her my sincerest apologies and…_regret_ any emotional grievances I may have unjustly placed upon her.”

Celine’s mouth dropped open. She looked at her attorney and then back at Martha.

Martha’s attorney was whispering into her ear, but she seemed not to hear him.

“You…you are dropping your formal complaint against the defense?” Judge Shapiro confirmed.

“Y-yes.”

There were a few seconds of heavy silence. As if the room was waiting for her to change her mind.

“Motion granted. The lawsuit is hereby dismissed.”

He banged his gavel and proceeded to ask for the next case.

“What just happened?” she mumbled to her attorney.

He shook his head, shrugging with one shoulder.

“She took a piss and grew a heart. Your guess is as good as mine. We would have won either way, the judge wouldn’t have been able to overlook how tight the terms and conditions were. You can’t battle something the victim knowingly and, on the record, agreed to use at her own discretion.”

Before she could respond, Bruce and Taj were at her side. They matched her confusion, but it quickly made way for relief.

“So…we just won?” Taj clarified, studying them all to make sure.

“It would appear that way,” Bruce answered slowly.

She looked up to find Martha, but the woman had already scurried out of the room.

It was only when they were heading out of the courthouse – Bruce quietly thanking their attorney – that she received another text from John.

** _Congratulations. _ **

She stopped in place and shot him back a text.

** _What did you do?_ **

He took his sweet time responding. She shuffled in place on the top step of the courthouse; ignoring the two photographs snapped of her, Bruce, and their attorney by a member of the press.

** _You had mentioned last night Miss Graves knowingly allowed her daughter to be sexually abused by her boyfriend. I paid her a visit in the bathroom and merely…reminded her what troubles could be unleashed upon her should she pursue a trial. _ **

She shook her head.

** _We had no hard evidence of the abuse, only a phone conversation we couldn’t prove to the court happened._ **

Their attorney offered a final farewell to them before heading to his car.

** _She did not know this and appeared too frazzled to even consider calling my bluff. Consider this my thank you for acquiring what you did. I hope her apology was…sufficient. If not, I can pay her another visit._ **

“Celine?”

Lowering her phone, she looked at Bruce.

“How about it?”

“How about what?”

“Lunch,” Taj input. “To celebrate.”

_Does this warrant celebration? John intervened on my behalf…we didn’t technically win. Not by legal means anyway._

Then again, hadn’t she just earlier told Bruce she was willing to do compromising things for someone else’s betterment? What was the difference between what she’d done and what John had done? It was all in the name of helping someone that deserved it. She may not have been willing to pull that bluff, but he was. And…she was all the better for it.

“Sure,” she agreed. “Lunch sounds great.”

Before they gathered inside of Bruce’s car, she sent John a final text back.

** _Thank you <3_ **

They chose a café and bistro ten minutes away from the courthouse. The inside was sparsely populated, and the trio ended up settling down at a corner booth. Bruce and Taj took the seat across from her.

It was a personal tic of hers that wherever she sat inside a place to eat, she had to have eyes on the front door. She didn’t think it was a paranoia thing, merely curiosity. She liked to see who was coming and going.

Now that the lawsuit was officially behind them, she finally felt like she could breathe. One very painful headache down.

Speaking of headaches, she was surprised Joker hadn’t texted her once yet today. Perhaps what she’d said on the bus got through to him. How could any form of a relationship bloom when one person couldn’t promise not to harm the other? No matter their similarities, the discrepancies were too glaring to overlook.

_I’m not disappointed about that. I’m not. He truly belongs with someone just like him…I wonder if his profile is getting any hits. _

She snorted at that, relieved neither Taj or Bruce picked up on it. They were in a passionate discussion about which players were being transferred to what teams before the English Premiere League season begun. Soccer wasn’t her thing, but it was the most tolerable sport she could watch, with the exception of wrestling. She was surprised it took them so long to realize they shared that commonality.

Content to pick at her food and sporadically tune in and out of their conversation, she worked on responding back to Wesley. He’d texted just shortly after they’d sat down with a list of countries he wanted to hit. It was much slimmer than she anticipated, and she mentioned as much.

** _You’re the birthday girl. Where you go, I follow. _ **

She tried not to smile like a dork at the response.

It took an hour for them to finish lunch and by that time Taj was itching to head out. Tuesdays were apparently the day his online _Super Smash Bros_ league met, and he was rapidly making a name for himself as an unbeaten contender.

“I’ve played as Kirby for the past three years, he’s bubblegum inside my heart,” he relayed. “The key is to hit the buttons like you’re having a stroke…a strategic one.”

Before he headed out, they’d gotten onto the topic of her three months excursion around the world.

“You don’t have to if you’re not comfortable,” Taj reassured. “Because of the US’s involvement in that general region of the world, Americans are sometimes easy targets for kidnappings or killings. But that’s namely by extremists or hardline nationalists, it’s not a reflection of the people in the area. I grew up in a part of Pakistan called Swat Valley. Celine…there’s no place on Earth that can contend with how beautiful it is there. Rivers, forests, mountains, valleys, lakes…I’m long overdue for a trip back. I have aunts and uncles I can get in touch with that’ll show you around. I promise you won’t regret it.”

Her brows furrowed.

“Swat Valley? Isn’t that where Malala Yousafzai was from?”

“The very same.”

“Would your aunts and uncles mind?”

“Not in the least. The beauty of the area…it’s one of the reasons why a lot of people don’t leave, despite the turmoil of years prior.”

“If they’re okay with it, then hell yes I’m on board.”

“Awesome. I’ll call them this week and get back with you on what time frame works best for them. Um…Skype me if you have the reception when you’re there. It’ll get my ass into gear about ordering a plane ticket.”

“Will do.”

He threw them a peace sign before exiting the café.

Bruce finished up the last of his coffee and she the last of hers.

“You want to stop at mine for a little bit?” he asked. “I have to return your knife and Aesop’s been dying to see you again.”

“Yes please.”

As Bruce set off to his apartment, Celine wrote out a lengthy text to Stephanie.

** _I’m heading to Maine beginning of next week. Would you be willing to assemble the usual care package for me? For that first qtr, preferably a hybrid or something sativa dominant. If you still have access to Chemdawg, I’ll be a giddy gal. If not, no worries, I trust your judgment. That other qtr…not sure if you’re still growing those psilocybe azurescens…whatever you’ve got I’m not picky, just remember how…potent they were. I was convinced I was seeing and communicating with tree spirits…and I may have danced naked with them under a rainstorm…as one normally does. Thank you again for helping me out not just with this but getting me into character last week. I appreciate you more than words can express._ **

Stephanie was a notoriously inconsistent texter, so she didn’t anticipate a response back until possibly later in the week. It was all about catching her in the right frame of mind. All her life she had struggled with ADHD. Not thrilled with how robotic medication made her feel, she relied on marijuana to soothe her overactive mind. Rarely was she not stoned and depending on the strain she had in her possession, hearing back from her might be immediate or it might be ten days later. You never really knew with her.

When they arrived at Bruce’s penthouse, Aesop was perched on a stool overlooking the city skyline. In front of him was a wooden easel with a nearly blank canvas sitting on it.

“I needed to distract him from being so helpful,” Bruce whispered to her. “Alfred was threatening to seek employment elsewhere. I think he was kidding…but I didn’t want to take that chance.”

He’d only painted in the very top right corner. Nothing that held form; it was an abstract melding of colors. Swirls of indigo, charcoal, and onyx with specs of a frosty white and sweltering crimson dotted within. From a distance, it looked like a wormhole. 

“I get to actually see you work!” she exclaimed.

Aesop spun around, eyes growing wide upon taking her in. They dashed toward one another; him scooping her up in a hug that had her throwing both arms and legs around him.

“I’ll leave you two to get reacquainted,” Bruce said, retreating to his bedroom to change.

He twirled them around; their joyous laughter getting muffled against each other.

“Thank god,” he murmured, squeezing her. “How’re you feeling? How did the lawsuit appeal go?”

They pulled away the instant she was back on her feet.

“Feeling decent, all things considering. Tired, but the caffeine is keeping that at bay. And the lawsuit was tossed. Martha had a change of heart. How are you? I-it’s surreal to see you actually painting…how does it feel to be back at it again?”

“Doing really well. Wayne is…_very_ laid back. No wonder you’re able to keep your head on straight…he’s actually…a good guy. I wasn’t expecting that.”

He scratched the back of his head at this admission, suddenly finding the floor of great interest.

“I wasn’t expecting it either when I first met him,” she divulged. “He purposefully baits the tabloids into thinking he’s nothing more than a shallow playboy. Which makes meeting him…truly meeting him that is…quite a surprise.”

“Exactly,” he agreed. “And…painting’s been…foreign. I don’t think I’ve held a brush in my hand since closing the gallery on Simmons Street. Relearning how to hold one, what to paint…it’s all there, I just have to find my way back to it.”

She landed her gaze on the canvas.

“What prompted this, if you don’t mind me asking? You’ve gotta remember…I was-_am _a big fan of yours. I will geek out over whatever you create.”

He ran a hand through his hair, twisting back to examine the beginnings of a concept.

“I was thinking of our very first conversation. Being somewhere you don’t have to worry about getting shot at randomly by a homicidal clown tends to put life into perspective. You…are _fond_ of the universe. That’s what I remember most. You have faith in it, despite the chaos that can occur- gamma ray bursts, supernovas, blackholes, planetary and galaxy collisions…if I remember from grade school correctly the universe after the big bang was extremely volatile…a hotbed for all sorts of particles. Never ending pandemonium.” He eyed the painting with a tilt of the head. “That’s a feeling I’ve long related to. But it’s contained only to this portion of the canvas.” His hand circled the conglomeration of color. “Because you…you made me realize that’s not all there is. If you are willing to endure the right type of chaos, everything…balances itself out. A brand-new portion of the universe can be exposed to you. I kind of consider you…an expanding galaxy. All galaxies expand I suppose, but you expand with purpose. And I just happened to come across you at the right time. Near the bottom half of the left corner…that’s where you will begin. Certain colors come to mind when I think of you. Gold, violet, aqua….._am I weirding you out_?”

She shook her head, fumbling for the words.

“I’m…I’m flattered. Truly. I can’t wait to see how it turns out.”

“You and me both.”

Her cheeks burned hotter each time her eyes scanned the canvas. Never in her wildest dreams did she think one of her favorite artists would paint a piece inspired by her. And with such a touching explanation at that…flattered wasn’t nearly a strong enough word.

Aesop glanced behind them, shoulders easing upon realizing Bruce was still in his room. He leaned toward her and lowered his voice.

“Has uh…has Joker paid you a visit at all?”

Her smile crumbled.

“Yeah. My last night at the hospital. He butchered Gil and showed me his zip-locked body parts.”

He winced.

“Shit.”

“That’s…something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. He’s made me an ultimatum of sorts. So long as I respond to his texts, he doesn’t break into this apartment and gut you like a fish.”

Groaning, he scratched the back of his head.

“I take it he’s been driving you crazy?”

“He was…but he’s been silent today. We had an…encounter yesterday. I think I got through to him about how little I trusted him. Hopefully, he’ll realize I’m not worth the effort and leave me alone.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” he countered. “If he took the time to kill Gil in such an…unfriendly manner…then I doubt you’re in the clear just yet. You don’t have to respond to him if you don’t want to.”

“He’ll kill you if I don’t.”

He shrugged.

“Wayne’s got a panic room I can always hide out in should he pay me a visit. His security is top notch. Plus, I’m armed and have been in a ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ mentality since dipping out on him. He can try using that knife on me…it won’t fare well. That ultimatum is nothing more than a scare tactic to bend you to his whim. I won’t allow it…unless you enjoy texting him.”

She made a face at him.

“Then don’t. I’m a big boy, I know the choice I made. You shouldn’t have to bear the burden of it. Speaking of knives…”

He glanced at Bruce’s room again.

“That one you had on you…it’s one of Joker’s isn’t it?”

“…yeah.”

“I thought I recognized it. Wayne asked me if it was his…I played dumb. He asks me questions here and there, mostly about Joker ordering me to stalk you. He’s more worried than he lets on about…I don’t know what to call it…his fixation with you?”

She didn’t care for the term but couldn’t think of a more appropriate word right then.

“Just a heads up,” he added. “He suspects you’re not telling him everything.”

_I shouldn’t be surprised. This thing with Joker…it has to end. I’m not willing to lose Bruce’s friendship over it. I’m not willing to lose my life over it._

“Thanks Ace, I’ll keep it in mind.”

He nodded.

“So, what’s this I hear about you abandoning us for three months to gallivant around the world? With another one of Joker’s hostages at that…it never ceases to amaze me the types of friendships you strike up.”

Soothed by the change in topic, she launched into the story of the birthday present Wesley had gifted her. At the same time, her brain was gunning for ideas on how to lose Joker’s interest once and for all…that didn’t end in her painful, drawn out death.

***

By the time Bruce dropped her off at home, evening was setting in. For dinner, Alfred had oven baked some salmon filets bathed in lemon juice and rosemary as well as diced red potatoes. She’d been struck somewhat by how easily Aesop and Bruce got along. They both carried the same dry sense of humor and weren’t shy about going back and forth with one another on a variety of topics. The day’s events had begun to wear on her by that point, so she’d been content to lean back and watch. It crossed her mind multiple times throughout the meal how blessed she was to have the friends she did. Now that the Martha Graves situation had been handled, she set her intentions on seeing Agatha again.

**_I know you said I can stop by whenever, but what works best for you?_**

She picked up the occasional flower petal off the floor while waiting for a response. On a coffee table in the living room she had her notebook spread open. In it was a list of the seven continents and beneath them the countries she and Wesley mutually agreed were must visits. It helped immensely getting it all written out. The event seemed realer to her.

Similarly, on another page she’d jotted down all the responsibilities she needed to tend to, so the trip was possible. Tomorrow, she would call her primary physician to make sure she was up to date on all her shots and speak with her landlord about whether her lease required rent to be paid during those three months of absence. She also planned to stop by a few stores and pick up some other necessities prudent to their travels.

When her phone dinged, she expected a reply from Agatha.

Instead, it was Taj.

** _Hey…you’re going to want to turn on channel 6._ **

She did so with a bad feeling brewing in her stomach.

The channel Taj spoke of was in the midst of airing a live interview with-

“Fuck.”

She dropped down into the couch, running both hands through her hair.

Martha Graves was positioned primly in one chair and Carl Prewitt – the interviewer for his self-titled nightly newscast _What’s Happening Gotham? with Carl Prewitt__ – _sat in another. She tuned in with a sigh that made her bones ache.

“-_my baby girl entrusted Miss Harlow’s app to help her. She entrusted the doctors Miss Harlow had to give her the help she desperately needed. There is no doubt in my mind had this Oz app not existed, my darling Elle would still be alive_.”

Carl shifted forward; fingers interlocked atop one knee.

“_And has Miss Harlow reached out to you since your daughter’s death?_”

Martha sniffled once.

“_Her investor – Bruce Wayne – tried to make it go away by paying for the funeral. I was disgusted and refused to accept. Like Jesus Christ, I am not so easily tempted_.”

She groaned, palming her forehead. No doubt Taj had given a heads up to Bruce already. She was glad not to be in the same room as him right now. His reaction was probably a little less composed than her own.

Carl transitioned the questions to the lawsuit appeal earlier in the day.

“_Oh, I don’t doubt Mr. Wayne had the judge paid off,” she emphasized, nodding firmly. “There’s no other explanation for why justice wasn’t granted to me. Mr. Wayne and Miss Harlow are no better than the common crook. They abuse the legal system to keep their app running. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn other lawsuits have mysteriously been tossed out.”_

She scoffed, fighting the urge to curse at the television screen.

_“You have my full condolences,” Carl assured, offering her his hand. “What would you like to say to those who are either users of Oz or are considering utilizing the app?”_

_“Miss Harlow is a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” she stated. “She does not have anybody’s best interest at heart…other than her bank account. The licensed psychologists she’s acquired for her app are poorly trained and ill-equipped to deal with those suffering from mental disorders. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again- church is the way to go. Only there will these afflicted individuals find the cure they’re looking for.”_

Carl should have come back with “_If church is the answer, why isn’t Elle still with us?”_

But he opted for the route of controversy. 

“_So, you suggest a boycott be placed on Oz Ascending?”_

_“Without question. Miss Harlow is in no position to facilitate an app dealing with the well-being of others. She is as rotten and greedy as they come. I may not have gotten my justice, but God will surely judge her accordingly. This…makes my daughter’s loss just a little more bearable.”_

They went to commercial break, leaving her to gape uselessly at the screen.

_That…that…that conniving bi-._

She tried to even out her breathing, massaging the inside of her palms as a means of calming down.

_Okay…okay…think. Think. I know the truth. That has to count for something, doesn’t it?_

She wasn’t so sure. Carl had been almost gleeful in stirring up Martha’s hysteria. Once news of this reached beyond channel 6, she didn’t put it past other media sources not to capitalize on the tragedy. And they certainly didn’t need to know the truth to make that happen.

Her phone dinged with a text. She glanced down.

** _First thing tomorrow I’m meeting with our lawyers again. This is slander. She won’t get away with it._ **

She read Bruce’s message five times before discarding her phone on the table in front of her.

_It won’t matter much anyway. Even if a trial comes out of this to hold her accountable, it’ll be months down the line. This interview…this is what will marinate in everyone’s mind until then. _

She clicked off the TV before the program could return to air. Her bed suddenly sounded like the coziest place in the world.

_A drink would be nice too._

She stubbed out that thought before it could grow into anything other than a passing urge. Martha Graves would not be responsible for upending the carefully maintained sobriety she’d worked years to cultivate. At this point all she could do was rest. Rest and prepare for the incoming storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurricane Martha has made landfall. Let's see how our girl handles this : )


	20. Chapter 20

Her phone was teeming with text and call alerts by the time she woke up. When she saw it was noon already, she nearly crawled back under her blankets, content to stay there for the entirety of the day. It wasn’t like her to sleep in so late, but her body was finally catching up with the non-stop errand-running of the past two days. Dr. Ensinger had emphasized getting proper rest…from the way her muscles strained just getting out of bed, her body appeared to agree.

Bruce had called twice, the most recent one being an hour ago. An Arkham State Hospital number also attempted to reach her three times. She refrained from calling either back for the time being. Just until her texts were taken care of.

Agatha’s was short and sweet.

** _Friday. 8PM. See you here :)_ **

Taj’s was, in his own way, wholly supportive.

** _What a BITCH. Let’s hope we can sue her ass for all she’s got._ **

Stephanie’s was most likely written while half asleep.

** _Gotchu. Sunday the pikle truck comes I’ll haveit_ **

She interpreted that to mean stop by Sunday. And maybe she was getting a pickle too?

John’s was straight and to the point.

** _Would you like me to take care of her for you?_ **

She hastily replied to that one, knowing full well what John’s idea of taking care of something entailed. Yes, Martha was a malicious pest, but she’d not done anything worthy of a torturous death.

** _No thank you. Leave the damage control to me. Thank you for offering. _ **

Aesop’s was grounding.

** _Those close to you know better. Those you’ve helped know better. You’ll still have me at the end of all this._ **

And he was right. Years of learning how to establish her own boundaries and letting in the right people so she didn’t have to overexert herself to meet them halfway… would pay off. She wasn’t alone in this and those who truly cared for her would still be there when the brunt of this was over. That’s what she chose to focus on.

She ended up calling Bruce back while scrambling up some eggs.

“Have you been outside yet?” was his first question.

“No, just woke up.”

“You might want to take the emergency exit in the back. The front of your place is crawling with reporters.”

“Ah…thanks for the heads up.”

“I talked with our lawyers and they can draw up a-.”

“Bruce…” She watched the eggs curdle in the frying pan, gnawing on her bottom lip. “Don’t worry about it.”

“…_come again_?”.

“We aren’t going to sue her,” she stated. “I’m not going to spend the rest of this year going back and forth in courtrooms. She isn’t worth the effort. You’ve done more than enough for me. Let me handle this.”

He was silent for a long moment.

“Are you sure?”

“I am. She wants a reaction out of me. I refuse to give her one. I’ll talk to a few reporters outside…clarify our version of events. They’ll either believe me or they won’t. I have no control beyond that. And suing Martha…it’s going to look like we have something to hide.”

“I understand where you’re coming from,” came his slow response, “but if we don’t fight this the media circus will only escalate. And seeing as you’re the owner and creator…it’s you they’re going to crucify.”

She sighed, turning off the stove.

“It’ll be rough for a little bit…but I’m not new to facing scrutiny. Nothing they print in the press could be worse than what I’ve said to myself throughout my life. Just…trust this is going to pass.”

When he didn’t answer right away, she repeated his name.

“…okay. I…I trust you. I just…I don’t like seeing you vilified. It’s the exact opposite of what you are.”

“You and those close to me know that. Its enough for me to weather this storm.”

She knew he wasn’t fully convinced not to take legal action, but ultimately, he was only the investor. The decision was hers to make and she had made it.

_I hope I’m going about this the right way. Combating vengeance with vengeance…it may turn me into a person I don’t care on being. It’s tempting to go after her, but…I have to remember…she’s behaving like this because she lost a daughter. It’s not my place to deepen that wound. _

Bruce offered her a hesitant goodbye before hanging up. Her next call was to the number that’d rang her from Arkham.

“Miss Harlow,” Dr. Suarez greeted. “I thought you may want to know some of the other doctors associated with _Oz_, myself included, have been contacted by members of the press. How do you want us to handle this?”

She scooped some eggs into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

“You’re under no obligation to speak with them, but if any of you would like to…I won’t stop you.”

“If any of us choose to, know that we have your back. This Graves woman…she seeks to spite you at every turn. We won’t allow it.”

“The feeling is mutual. I know the hours you’ve all put into being a listening ear when no one else would. We’ll all make it out of this one way or another.”

“Yes,” he agreed, sounding a little cheerier. “I am sorry you are being put through this. But if there is anyone who can endure it, it is you. Should you need anything else, call my personal number.”

“I will, thank you.”

Once her eggs were all eaten up, she cracked her knuckles and released a deep sigh.

“You got this,” she said to herself. “You are kind and you are tough and you are patient. Even if you lose everything, you at least have yourself. That’s something no entity can take away. Right? Right.”

She high fived herself, ready to face the music no matter how deafening the beat.

***

The rest of Wednesday and Thursday was _strenuous_ to say the least. Even after a calm, articulative interview with the reporters buzzing outside her apartment building; Gotham’s media just couldn’t let a “scandal” slide. She blamed it on boredom. Now that Joker was lying low and the City Council members were on their best behavior, there wasn’t a big bad to focus on. A few mob-related stories here and there, but overall, she was the proverbial sacrificial lamb.

At first it was easy to ignore. Yes, she’d been followed going to stores and had photographs snapped of her getting on transportation, but headphones easily took care of that issue.

Until those photographs appeared on the front page of next day’s paper, accompanied by a headline to the effect of “**_Aloof App Creator Strolls About Gotham in Light of User’s Suicide” _**or “**_Business as Usual for Scandal-Plagued App Creator.” _**She tried not to let her eyes scan the papers while walking, but they did so on their own accord. And it made guilt weigh all the heavier in her stomach.

Martha Graves was on a roll interview-wise, managing to snag three more news time slots to relay her sob story to. Each interview painted her in a worse light than the one before. It wasn’t even Bruce she focused the brunt of her anger on anymore. A target was painted on her back and Martha was bent on shooting at it until there was nothing left.

Though most late-night talk show hosts didn’t stoop so low as to poke fun at the tragedy, there was one – _The Late Show with Elliot Fry – _that dedicated a near ten-minute monologue on her bruised-up appearance. Elliot even went so far as to suggest, as atonement for Martha’s loss, that she have some compassion knocked into her. He of course followed this up with “_Kidding, only kidding_.” but it didn’t keep the audience from loudly applauding.

To make matters worse Taj had informed her their user base had dropped 10% since she’d become front page news. Her explanation regarding the lawsuit apparently wasn’t juicy enough. Even Bruce’s statements to the press did little to curb the beating she was receiving.

An unintended consequence of Martha’s interviews was the cult following she had amassed, both among religious folks and mothers who had lost children to suicide. They took to the tragedy like Elle was their own. Which would have been sweet if they didn’t take out their frustrations on her.

She’d been hustling home early Thursday when out of nowhere an egg struck her right in the forehead.

“You oughta be ashamed of yourself!” someone shouted from behind the shoulders of the few reporters who still took to hounding her mercilessly despite having given her version of events already.

Needless to say, she didn’t leave her apartment for the rest of the day.

She wasn’t going to lie…being portrayed as a heartless, greedy bitch hurt. She knew herself better of course but being painted in that light by people who shaped the opinions of the public made it difficult not to want to argue that portrayal. Her reputation wasn’t something she felt the need to maintain, but witnessing it crumble before her eyes made it much more personal than she anticipated. Bruce begged her repeatedly to let him help stifle the damage being inflicted upon her. He took the most offense to the smear campaign being run. Anytime she thought about giving in and letting him help, her pacifist nature declined it.

_Let this run its course, _it urged. _She isn’t worth saying words you can’t take back._

Gingerly, she gave in to this voice. Come Friday and she would be reunited with Agatha. If there was anyone to guide her on how she should handle her current situation, it was her.

Thursday evening found her further at work on a rough draft of her essay “The Nature of Shame.” A bit of smooth jazz was playing in the background.

Hesitant as she was to admit it, Joker’s feedback aided her tremendously. John had labeled her a utilitarian, which was in line with how a lot of her decision-making skills were made. If she could make a choice for the betterment of all, she would.

And yet…that she allowed Joker to continuously escape and averted telling the truth to Bruce about their liaisons…it forced her to come to an uncomfortable realization: not only did she feel a very tangible shame for her association with him, but that shame caused her to choose him over Gotham’s safety. Which then begged the question…was this shame useful or corrosive? When did her morals shift so extremely that she could no longer tell whether what was good for her was also good for everyone else?

It was in the middle of this conundrum that an explosion erupted from somewhere outside, rattling her windows and nearly knocking the few vases she still had left onto the floor.

She shot up from her couch and peered out the window but saw nothing. The explosion had come from the front of her building. Which meant she wouldn’t be able to see what caused it without going out the front door. Last time she checked, at least a handful of reporters were still lurking. As persistent as her curiosity was, she wasn’t willing to leave the confines of her apartment and risk another yolky assault.

After gathering a few breaths to ground herself, she slowly returned to the couch and tentatively continued her draft.

So focused was she on it that when her door handle started to jiggle, she paid it no mind. Neither did she catch her locks flipping 180 degrees.

_Maybe this will be a half and half piece. Shame holds a myriad of faces. It can benefit the masses just as much as it deteriorates the-._

“Watcha working on?”

She jumped at the voice, heart nearly bursting out of her throat. Her fingers cautiously pulled away from the keyboard.

_Please be a figment of my overworked imagination._

When she risked a glance to her left, that hope vanished.

Minus the purple coat, he was dressed as he’d been the first time she laid eyes on him.

Disappointment briefly flooded her. She’d almost gotten used to seeing him nearly bare faced. It humanized him and accentuated what she suspected was a fairly handsome face underneath.

By the bouncing he was doing off the balls of his feet, he appeared to be excited.

It didn’t take long for her to venture a guess as to why.

“I take it that explosion was your doing?”

She gave herself props for sounding more composed than she felt.

His grin was crooked.

“_Yup_. You’ve been very, _very_ tricky to get to. Not _ah_-not a fan of that.”

She didn’t know whether to disapprove of the action or thank him.

When he didn’t say anything else, her eyes returned to her laptop screen.

“Was there something you wanted?” she asked, re-reading the last paragraph she’d typed out.

“Hmm…you’ve been taking quite the _bashing_ from the media.”

She shrugged and gestured at her nearly healed face.

“I’m used to it. They can think whatever they want. It’ll blow over eventually.”

He frowned at the statement.

“That woman…she’s not gonna let up until she’s destroyed you.”

It exited her mouth before she could think it through.

“Let her.”

He stalked toward her, cocking his head as his eyes gleaned over her person.

“You’ve given _up_.”

She met his gaze, brows furrowing.

“Refusing to engage isn’t the same as giving up. It’s not in my nature to fight hate with hate.”

“You’re letting her rail ya,” he continued, plopping down on the couch next to her and propping up his feet on the table. “And doing nothing about it. That…_that_ isn’t in your nature. You’re a fighter whether ya wanna admit that to yourself or not. I’ve uh…got the scars and bruises to prove it.”

It was his turn to gesture at himself. Reluctantly, a half smile formed on her lips.

“You’re different.”

“Duh.”

“I mean-.” She struggled for the words. “-if I don’t fight you back, I have my life to lose. Martha? There’s nothing she can’t take from me that will matter. Not in the long run anyway. I’ll endure, like I’ve always done.”

“Hmm…” he reclined his head on the couch, eyeing her with a squint. “And what if I told ya she’s revving up to take ya to court again?”

Her jaw tightened.

“You’re lying.”

“Am _not_,” he defended, bringing a hand to his chest in mock outrage. “Vindictive little bitch doesn’t know when to quit. You not playing ball with her gets under her skin. Trust me, I _know_ the feeling.”

She looked at her laptop.

“Let her,” she repeated.

She made to move forward and continue typing, but Joker shot out a hand and grabbed her by the chin. He forced her head toward him, studying her intently. There was a dead seriousness in his expression that screamed at her not to turn away.

“What’s gotten into ya, _hm_?” He shook her chin a little. “Willing to let some zealous little cunt run ya right into the ground. Willing to let morons dictate your image. Since when didja bend over and take it?”

“Why do you even care?” she shot back. “The media does the same thing to you and I don’t see you making a fuss.”

“In my line of work, any publicity is _good_ publicity,” he countered with a smirk. “You…you’re actually doing something _decent_ for this rotting corpse of a city. Not _uh_ exactly understanding why you’re not reminding them of that.”

She was confused. Why would he want her to be proactive? What would he gain to see her reputation remain credible? It seemed very much unlike him. He sought to eviscerate white knight crusaders like herself. Stranger yet, he was beginning to sound a lot like Bruce.

“Those who know me…those who I’ve helped…they know better,” she assured. “It’s their graces I want to remain good in, not any talk show hosts or news anchors or bored reporters looking to fuel the flames. I’ve spoken my truth…the longer Martha speaks hers…or her version of it anyway…the less desire I have to defend myself. From my point of view, she’s digging her grave. I’m content watching from a distance.”

He grumbled something she didn’t hear. His thumb brushed over the split on her bottom lip.

“I don’t buy it,” he said, releasing her. “Not entirely. I’m gonna take a wild little guess and say you don’t got the cojones t’a end her once and for all. I mean…wouldn’t take _much_ to reveal to the “truth-seeking” press just what sorta woman she is. Letting her boyfriend rape her daughter…for _years_! You could crush her with a few carefully chosen words. That you don’t…makes me wonder if I hadn’t given you too much credit.”

“I’m not you,” she reminded. “Mercy is a virtue. Just because you lack it doesn’t mean I should either.”

His sigh was low and drawn out.

“Shoulda anticipated that response. Such a compassionate bunny…it’s a wonder you haven’t been gobbled _up_ yet.”

She eyed him warily.

“I’ve had a few close calls.”

He released an ear-piercing laugh at that, slapping his knee twice.

“That uh…that you have.”

_I should tell him to leave. I should make an excuse to walk away and grab the taser gun. I should shoot him and call Bruce. I should-._

“How did you know Martha was aware of her daughter’s abuse?”

He licked his bottom lip, eyeing her coyishly.

“You had me curious,” he admitted. “Offering me bits and pieces of the puzzle, but no…too stubborn to give me the whole picture. But that’s alright, I’ve got all the patience in the world. If someone’s out to get my snookums, I gotta learn all the details.”

Her brain briefly spazzed out.

“_Snookums_?”

He batted his eyelashes, trying not to release a shit-eating grin.

“Snookums,” she repeated, staring into his suddenly amused features. “That you even have that word in your vocabulary…”

“You _loooooove_ it,” he returned, lapping at one of his scarred cheeks. “Could ya imagine what you’d do without me?”

“Do you want that list alphabetically or chronologically?”

“Mm…” He cracked his neck. “Tell me something sweets…were you spanked a bunch as a kid?”

For emphasis, he swung his hand through the air.

“_No_.”

“Hmpf…_figured_. Sometimes…well…more often than not…I’ve got this little fantasy playing in my head. Do ya wanna hear about it?”

“I would prefer not to, but something tells me you’re going to tell me anyway”

He beamed at that, shifting to sit on his side so he faced her.

“You know me _soooo_ well.”

She crossed her arms.

“Go ahead.”

“So, I got this little fantasy going…one of many starring you-.”

“I didn’t need to know that.”

“-where you’re dressed in this teeny tiny skirt. And you’re being so damn…_promiscuous_. Flaunting your cute little behind in front of men that uh _aren’t_ me. A clown can only handle so much disrespect, ya know? I ah I sling you over my lap and get to work on spanking that bouncy little ass of yours until it’s the perfect shade of cherry red. You’re of course moaning up a storm-.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“-and I slip my hand in between your thighs and wouldn’t ya know it you’re absolutely _soaked_?”

“Why? Did I go swimming in this fantasy of yours?”

“Mm…you keep up that lip and I’ll re-enact it.”

“Pfft…I’d like to see you tr-.”

Joker shot an arm around her back and tugged her over his parted thighs. A squeak escaped her as he slipped off his leather glove with his teeth and cupped one of her ass cheeks, giving it a few experimental squeezes.

She tried to push herself back up, but his elbow was lodged firmly into her back, keeping her in place.

“You motherfu-.”

_Smack._

Joker grinned at the jolt her body underwent. He massaged the area he’d struck her, snagging his bottom lip between his teeth and sucking it in.

“Your mommy was much too soft on ya,” he remarked. “Lucky for you, daddy’s more than willing to make up for it.”

_Smack. Smack._

She grunted into the cushion.

“Let me up damn it!”

_Smack. Smack. Smack. _

“Oh no _no_ _no_ _no_…I’ve been _dying_ to get you into this position. Not gonna waste such a uh _prime_ opportunity.”

From the stiffness pressing into her stomach, she knew he wasn’t lying.

“If you don’t let me up-.”

_Smack. Smack._

“-I’m going to-.”

_Smack. Smack. Smack._

“God damn it!”

Just as he made to bring his hand down again, she launched her elbow into his crotch. The moment the pressure on her back disappeared, she pushed herself up and slapped him across the face. Then once more from the opposite direction.

He had one hand cupping his crotch and another massaging the sting out of his cheek. His eyes darkened a shade as he examined her.

She was panting, too frazzled to get the proper words out.

“Asshole,” she settled on. “You ever try something like that again and it’ll be the last thing you do.”

He cocked his head.

“Not smart to make threats you don’t plan on following through with.”

Her left eye twitched. He was quickly propelling her past her boiling point, and she wasn’t sure she held the discipline not to go off on him.

“You and I are not friends,” she blurted. “I don’t know what you think you’re entitled to in that fucked up brain of yours but touching me like that isn’t one of those things. Keep your perverted fantasies to yourself. Keep your god damn hands to yourself. Better yet? Leave me the fuck alone!”

She’d tapped into an agitation she hadn’t realize had festered in the back of her mind from the past few days. Her chest heaved as images of newspaper headlines passed through her brain. Her shoulders shook as she recalled being hit in the face just for going about her day. All she’d wanted to do was help others the way she wished she had been. All she wanted was to give a reason to continue fighting to those convinced they no longer had the strength.

Both hands flew to her face, covering her eyes as ragged breaths spewed out of her. At some point she’d involuntarily begun to cry; palms growing slick from the tears.

_Breathe. Just…breathe. _

Her bottom lip trembled. There suddenly wasn’t enough oxygen in her lungs.

Joker grabbed her wrists and removed her hands from her face. She blinked through the tears. A hiccup escaped her.

He dragged her onto his lap; her thighs coming to rest on each side of his. Humming under his breath, he pulled her into his torso in a tight embrace, one hand stroking her back in soothing motions.

“Sh sh _shhh_,” he murmured into her hair. “Let it out. Just like that…mmm…that-_a_ girl.”

She sniffled into his dress shirt, instantly at ease from the warmth radiating off his body. Did he ever get cold? He seemed to be an ever-chugging furnace. And his strength... the cord-like muscles kept her firmly secured to him; ensuring she’d not be going anywhere anytime soon. The cologne he’d worn from the night he masqueraded as a police officer emanated off him; along with the stenches of grease and something slightly metallic.

_Why am I putty in his hands? Why does being held by him sometimes feel like resting by a fire after spending a day out in a blizzard? And why on earth is the magnetism between our bodies so strong? So right? I mean…I’m relaxing in the arms of a bona fide serial killer. This behavior goes far beyond recognizing the shadow self in others._

For the time being she wouldn’t harp too much on answering to those questions. He was actually…_comforting_ her; something she genuinely didn’t think him capable of. What was the saying? Best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Not yet anyway.

“I wish,” she muttered against him once the tears had subsided, “I could just-_just_ gather all those pickle loaf motherfuckers in the same room and force them into a game of Russian roulette.”

His chest rumbled in amusement against her.

“You only gotta ask and I’ll have it arranged.”

Though he voiced this lightly, she knew he wasn’t kidding.

“Don’t tempt me,” was her stifled response. 

She tried to lean back a little, but he wasn’t giving her much room to do so. With a tilt of the head, she analyzed his expression. The tender moment was quickly passing. Her brain sought to detect his underlying goal.

“You did that intentionally, didn’t you?”

His brows rose.

“I do everything intentionally. You uh _gotta_ be more speci-**_fic_**.”

“You were trying to piss me off with the spanking.”

His shrug was evasive.

“M_aaaaa_ybe.”

“Why?”

“Well it uh was _obvious_ you were wound up,” he observed. “Amicably as you’re _handling_ your situation, I suspected there were a few not so nice feelings being kept buried. Better I get them out then them. That’s what they want after all…herding ya into a corner, cameras trained on ya, waiting for ya to-.”

He bared his teeth at her and snapped them a few times.

“-crack and go _berserk_. Not so different than the doctors at Arkham.”

She studied him closely for half a minute.

“…and you wanted an excuse to feel my ass.”

The corners of his lips twitched.

“That uh…that too.” One hand shot down to her ass and squeezed a cheek. “Can ya blame me? Tough not to wanna mark it all up. Hands, teeth, fingernails…did I mention teeth?”

She blushed at the throaty declaration, momentarily closing her eyes. Her thoughts were being scattered all over the place. She needed to maintain focus.

He was right in one regard. Her public-led persecution had bothered her more than she let on. You could only remain so positive and levelheaded for so long. Every now and again, one needed to break down just to return to equilibrium again.

“You provoked me into getting that anger out,” she relayed to herself, unconsciously rubbing her palms over his shoulders. “Not for my benefit…no…you’re getting something out of it.”

He rolled his eyes.

“I’ll save ya the guesswork,” he offered. “You’re _umm_…what’s the polite way of saying this to an independent, modern-age gal such as yourself…_mine_. Yes, yes…_mine_. Which means no one is allowed to hurt ya but me. That clear things up for you?”

Her eyes slowly opened.

“Yours?”

It’s not the first time he’d alluded to it, but in all honesty, she assumed it was something he said to irritate her, not because it was something he truly believed.

“Mhm.”

His gaze kept flicking to her lips. She got the impression he kept having to tune into the conversation; so rampantly led was his imagination.

“But I’m not.”

He met her stare dead on. There was something in his tone of voice that reminded her of a dog readying itself to pounce on another dog that’d wandered into its territory. She wasn’t sure if she was the other dog or the territory.

“Help me understand…you’re not a stupid man,” she carefully released. “You pride yourself in seeing things as they are. No sugar coating, no smoke screens. Why bother feeding such an unnecessary delusion? One that benefits you in no way by believing.”

One of his hands snuck into her hair and slowly gripped onto her locks until he had complete control of her head movements. He brought her toward him until only inches separated their noses.

“And uh…what makes you so sure it’s delusion and not reality? Hm?” His voice lowered with each punctuating sentence. “So **_awfully_** sure…and yet, you know better than most…reality is subjective. My reality says…_no_…my instinct _insists_ that you’re mine. Has insisted it from the moment Batsy stole you away. My brain happens to agree. What about that has you struggling so hard to understand?”

“I can’t be yours if I don’t consent to it.”

“_Wrong_,” he practically sang. “History is written by the conquerors. By visionaries willing to enforce their perception of how the world should _be_. Take Europeans discovering the Americas. Do you think the natives mutually consented to being conquered? No-_pe_. To the victor go the spoils…and what a deeee-_licious_ spoil you are.”

She was getting a headache listening to his logic. How could he have concluded something like this in just under a month? How could he be so sure? Which instinct dictated that she was his? And was it organic or conditioned? 

Sighing, she wearily ran a hand over her face.

He released the hold he had on her hair, taking to patting it instead.

“Have you had this reaction to any other woman before?” she tried out, almost not wanting to know. “This…instinctual need to…own?”

His eyed her for a long moment, not saying anything. Which was an answer in itself.

“Awesome,” she grumbled. “What are the advantages of being yours? Enlighten me, please.”

“I uh…I keep _trying_ but you manage to slip away before I can.”

He rolled his pelvis up and against her, cock jutting into the apex of her thighs.

She buried her face in the crook of his neck, face heating up. He tightened his arms around her with a self-satisfied grin.

In a messed-up way this was becoming a new norm. Her straddling his lap while he basked in keeping her there. She wished so badly he wasn’t who he was. It would make giving in so much less ethically compromising.

“Since I ah _finally_ got your undivided attention,” he mentioned, “mind uh…mind telling me what I’m doing on a dating website?”

She busted into giggles against his neck, nearly having forgotten all about that. The longer he stayed silent, the harder her giggles became.

He pinched her side as a warning.

“What makes you think I had something to do with it?” she asked as nonchalantly as she could.

“Tracked the account to your e-mail, _honeybunches_,” came his high-pitched response.

“Ah…well, you got me there.” She leaned back to peer at him. “Just…looking out for your wellbeing. I’m not crazy enough to fuck you, but plenty in Gotham are. I was doing you a favor really.”

He lapped at his scars, gaze narrowing.

“A favor, hm?”

“Uh…yeah?”

Abruptly, he stood, forcing her to wrap both arms around his neck.

“A favor for little ole’ me,” he stated, heading in the direction of her bedroom. “I’ve ah-I’ve got this running theory ‘bout ya. Well, I’ve got _several_, but this one occupies my brain the most. I think _secretly_… you _like_ playing with fire. Crow, Ace, _yours_ _truly_…”

They crossed the threshold of her bedroom, his arms crushing her against him. She dreaded the end destination for reasons that weren’t so easily admittable.

“How many can say they’ve tango’d with Gotham’s finest and lived to tell about it?” He twirled them once around the room, grin deepening as she held on to him for dear life. “You’ve got a knack for attracting trouble…and that trouble is _just as_ attracted to you. You’re doing neither of us any favors in denying it. You and I…we are…_inevitable_.”

She couldn’t tear her gaze away from him, cheeks throbbing fiercely.

_Does he have a point? I attribute it to recognizing the yin and yang in everyone…do I…purposely seek out troubled individuals? _

His self-assuredness had her itching to return a theory of her own. _And_ secure some power back into her hands. From the way their charged banter was going, it wouldn’t take long for them to hash it out in her bed. That seemed to be how these encounters ended up as of late.

Just as well, she’d made a choice earlier in the week. He wasn’t worth losing the friends that genuinely cared about her. Friends whose motives she seldom had to question.

“I’ve got a theory about you too.”

“Mmm,” he rumbled, “pray _tell_.”

_When in doubt…weird them-yadda yadda, I know the drill. _

“I think you….…_like_ big butts and you cannot lie, those other Gothamites can’t deny,” she rapped, gesturing with one hand as if she had a mic in the other. “That when I walk in with a thick waist and a round thing in your face you get SPRUNG…want to pull up tough ‘cause you notice my butt was stuffed. Deep in the jeans I’m wearing, you’re hooked and you can’t stop staring…oh baby you wanna get with me…and take my picture. Your henchmen tried to warn ya, but with my butt it makes you…oh so horny.”

His jaw unhinged so fast she nearly re-erupted into giggles.

Thoroughly emboldened by his shock, she swept a few green locks out of his face. Her hand slid down to his cheek, thumb skimming over his scar tissue with the gentlest of brushes.

_Time to enlighten him on what me being his will entail. This is going to be fun!_

“I’ll clue you in on something else. You really, really _don’t_ wanna fuck me, Jack,” she relayed, tongue peeking out from the corner of her lips. “I’m the type to get attached easily. I’m the type to call and text non-stop. You won’t ever sleep comfortably again…I’ll wanna know where you’re at, who you’re with, what you’re doing, when you’ll be home.”

His eyes widened; panic briefly clouding his expression.

_What a typically male response. I can’t believe I didn’t try this sooner. _

Her index finger trailed over to his bottom lip. She hooked the top half into his mouth, licking her own as she did so.

“If you fuck me Jack, I’ll want to get married. And don’t even get me started on kids. I’ll want at least _seven_.” She pulled her index finger out of his mouth and slipped it into her own, tasting him. “I’ll force you to meet what family I still have left and _all_ my childhood friends and in no time you’ll be having dinners with Bruce and I at an upscale, overpriced Italian place as paparazzi discretely take photos of us from the bushes outside, proclaiming in the next day’s issue that you’ve turned over a new leaf…that you’ve gone…_soft_.”

She desperately wanted to laugh but didn’t wish to expose her bluff.

Joker appeared to be torn between fighting back a cringe each time she spoke and eyeing her hand and tongue movements like a lustful hawk.

“And for the record…_Jack_…I don’t think I’m attracted to trouble,” she said. “John and Aesop…they had buried their humanity. I consider myself an…_excavator_ of it. You, on the other hand…”

She leaned toward him, lips nearly touching his parted ones. His breath was hot and fast against hers. His eyes were trained on hers; nearly as black as his pupils. That he’d maintained his silence for so long filled her with an indescribable power.

“I-.”

_Knock. Knock. _

Her head shot to the front door. Joker gripped her jaw and tilted her attention back to him.

“Finish it,” he demanded lowly. “Finish. What. You. Were. Going. To. _Say_.”

_Knock. Knock. Knock_.

She tried to shimmy out of his grasp, but he refused to budge, fingers digging deeper into her skin.

“Maybe next time, grizzly bear.”

Her hands dropped to his sides and roughly dug into his ribs. It was all that was needed for him to release her onto her feet.

She exhaled deeply before turning and heading over to see who her guest was. To her relief, he made no move to follow.

Upon opening her door, her body relaxed.

Her landlord – a cantankerous woman of sixty-three – lurked there with arms crossed. A lit cigarette was bobbing between her lips. She made it evident early on she didn’t give a shit if you smoked in the building, so long as it wasn’t crack or meth. They got on well with one another, mostly because Celine was a pro at paying her rent on time and minding her own business.

“I saw you called,” she rasped, a few ashes flicking onto the carpet. “You having plumbing issues again?”

She stepped out into the hallway and closed the door until there was only a crack visible.

“Um, no not exactly. I’ll be out of the country for three months and was wondering if-.”

“Thousand-dollar deposit,” was her speedy response, eyeing her up and down. “Just in case you decide to disappear on me. You’ll get it back when you return. Anything else?”

“Uh…no…that about covers it. Thanks Miss Pendergrass.”

“Plumbing’s good?” she reiterated.

“Plumbing’s excellent.”

Her nod was sharp.

“Get some rest,” she suggested. “You look like someone beat the living hell outta you.”

“I-yeah.”

She was gone before Celine could form a more articulate response.

_Well, at least something’s going my way._

By the time she returned to her bedroom, Joker was long gone. The window to her bedroom was ajar. Down the fire escape he went.

She shut her window and wandered back to the couch; shaking her head every so often. Their encounters were so bizarre and unpredictable that there was always a recovery period needed to gather her bearings.

_What would I have said had we not been interrupted?_

She wouldn’t allow herself to linger on that. He was gone and she now knew how to make him keep his distance. It was a breakthrough. A silver lining out of the chronic migraine that was the last few days. She only needed to make it a little while longer and she’d be in the clear.

It was only when she was getting ready for bed that she noticed he’d left his purple glove behind. As much as his actions sickened her at times, she hadn’t the heart to toss it out.

_He’s meticulous. There’s no way this wasn’t intentional._

In the dimness of her apartment, she tried it on. Unsurprisingly, it was much too big for her. Which then set off a series of unhelpful reminders about just how large his hands were and how pleasant his calloused fingers felt against her smooth skin and how – _bless the universe he wasn’t a mind reader – _not exactly terrible it felt to have him grip onto her ass in such a confident manner.

Needless to say, that glove ended up locked away in a drawer as far away from her bedroom as possible; lest it followed into her dreams.

***

It was nearly two in the morning and Jonathan Crane couldn’t get to sleep to save his life. For once, it wasn’t Scarecrow’s doing. No, his thoughts orbited around one person and one person only.

That Celine didn’t take him up on his offer to handle the Graves woman gnawed at him tirelessly. He’d skimmed the newspaper headlines, he’d seen the photo snapped of her trying to clean eggshells out of her hair, he watched the interviews the Graves woman pumped out like an assembly line…something needed to be done.

Granted, he didn’t have Celine’s permission, but surely what she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her. He wasn’t doing this out of self-interest or to further nourish his madness…the greatest friend he’d ever known was being slandered and humiliated before his very eyes. He refused to let it continue happening, especially when he had the means to aid her like she so often aided him.

Mind made up, he got up and snatched a vial out of a filing cabinet. With steady hands, he emptied the liquid into a syringe. Scarecrow was suddenly very intrigued by his actions.

** _Our first test subject? About time Johnny, I was beginning to think we’d never get the chance to reap the rewards of our labor._ **

His nod was imperceptible.

“It’s as good a time as any,” he responded, unable to hide the quiver of excitement in his voice.

He quickly switched into all-black clothes. It wouldn’t do to be detected.

The journey to Martha Graves’s rowhome in north Gotham took just under a half hour. Personally, John loved this time of night. Those going about their business were seldom bothered unless they looked like easy prey. Other than a mouthy drunk passed out against a closed bar, he made it to his destination undisturbed.

He first scouted her street for activity, relieved to find it dead silent. He then scanned her rowhome, less than pleased to see a dull light pulsing through closed window blinds. He’d really hoped to catch her in the midst of sleep. Much easier to subdue an unaware target.

But he prided himself on being adaptable, this time being no different.

The rowhouses all shared an expansive backyard with a backdoor leading out to it. He readied himself to pick the lock leading into Martha’s home, but to his surprise, the door was already open.

_Hm…she doesn’t strike me as the type to trust so easily. Only fools and the suicidal leave their doors unlocked in this city._

He scanned his surroundings a final time before slipping inside the house.

The layout was pretty straightforward. To his immediate right was a dated kitchen with a powder room attached. The hallway he lingered in had two doors on either side to choose from. Both were closed. Up ahead on the right-hand side was the lit entryway to what he assumed the living room was. It was in this direction he crept; ears perked up for the slightest hint of movement.

The nearer to the living room he got, the slower his steps became. He wasn’t sure if he was hearing things correctly, but it sounded like muffled sobbing up ahead. Yes. Definite sobbing.

_I may just catch her unawares yet._

He froze upon hearing a voice sound from the room. A male one. _Not_ Martha Graves.

Overcome by curiosity, he covered the remaining distance to the living room, one hand wrapped around the silencer tucked away in the back of his pants.

When he peeked around the corner, John nearly lost his grip on the gun.

“You- what are _you_ doing here?”

Martha was bound and gagged to a kitchen chair, hair askew, mascara running down her cheeks, tears glistening in a never-ending flow down her face. What looked like a wash cloth had been stuffed deep into her mouth and partially into her throat.

But John barely paid her any attention.

“Johnny boy!” Joker exclaimed, straightening from his bent position over a coffee table. “What a coincidence. I’d _ah_ have Martha here offer ya some refreshments but umm…she’s a bit…tied up…_hahahaha_…”

His mouth opened and closed a few times. His gaze swiveled between Martha and the reoccurring thorn in his side.

“What are you doing here?” he repeated.

He didn’t enjoy being blindsided. It was always one of his least favorite things about the experimental stage of a hypothesis. That one in one millionth possibility that so seldom if at all ever occurred, he didn’t even bother entertaining it. Then again, what a precise way to describe the man in front of him. The Joker…the wildcard…never to be ruled out.

“Well if you _must_ know,” he answered, bringing the cap of a pen to his mouth, “Martha here and I were polishing up the most heartfelt, _riveting_ suicide note. Don’t get excited, hers _not_ mine. It’s real Pulitzer Prize material so far, isn’t that right Mar?”

He patted her on the head with a gloved hand, grin widening as the woman renewed her frantic sobbing, head shaking back and forth.

What sounded like ‘please’ escaped from behind her gag. Her tear-filled eyes gazed imploringly at John.

“Oh, you hush now,” Joker chided, flicking the tip of the pen against her forehead. “Or I’ll cut out your tongue and give ya something to _really_ scream about.”

If possible, her sobbing became more erratic.

John watched anguish contort her features. She was so very, very afraid that god help him if it didn’t make him a little hard.

He readjusted himself before venturing a step forward.

“It appears we are here for similar reasons,” he tested out. “Might I…join you?”

Joker shrugged.

“Why not? The more the _uh_ merrier!”

He allowed himself to relax ever so slightly. They still had unfinished business, but for the time being it appeared a temporary truce had been formed in lieu of a more mutual goal.

Martha’s screams resumed as John approached her, syringe in hand. A meaty vein throbbing near the pulse of her neck caught his attention.

Joker rested an elbow on the coffee table, momentarily content to observe the proceedings.

“It’s a liquid version of my serum,” he explained, pricking Martha’s vein with the tip of the needle before pushing down on the plunger. “Though I prefer the gaseous form because of the perimeter it can cover, a liquid version too has its purposes. Discreteness being the primary one. As you can imagine the test subject works up quite the sweat…and it is through sweat that the serum secretes back out after having run its course. Quick, personal, and doesn’t leave a trace.”

Joker whistled, watching Martha’s rapidly shifting expressions with great interest.

“Give it to me straight Doc, she gonna suffer much?”

John was glad Celine wasn’t there to witness his smile. He didn’t think she would want to be around him for quite some time.

“Excruciatingly,” he assured. “With no means of fending off her hallucinatory terrorizers she will slowly start to go mad. Her psyche will snap beneath the strain of trying to separate what is and isn’t reality. After a time, the two will become indistinguishable.”

“_Impressive_,” Joker praised, offering him a round of applause. “I _knew_ the night was still young. Just couldn’t figure out what was missing. How about it Martha? Did Johnny here knock it outta the park?”

She was choking on her own screams, rocking back and forth in the chair; bloodshot eyes staring at an unknowable horror.

“Good, _good_,” he mumbled to himself, returning his attention to the slip of paper beneath his palm.

“A suicide note?” John inquired, temporarily ignoring Martha and cautiously nearing Joker. “Believable, I hope. This cannot in any way trace back to-.”

He noticed Joker’s shoulders briefly tense.

_Ah…we are not in a headspace to admit why we’re doing this. Or rather…for who._

“-you or I,” he redirected. “Prior to your little stunt with the City Council members, the Commissioner wanted you dead or alive. Now, I very much think it’s the former.”

“Mm…I’m gonna have t’a disagree with you there, Doc. The more ah…_destructive_ your legacy, the more valuable your worth. What fun would I be to him dead? None. At. _All_. He likes to see me bleed and squirm just as much as I enjoy making his colleagues bleed and…_squirm_. Tit for tat. I get caught, I get thrown into Arkham, I escape…lather, rinse, _repeat_.”

John reluctantly conceded him that point. Especially if the Bat was the one handling the capture.

“If you say so,” was his cool response.

He knelt in front of Martha to get a more intimate view of her face, ignoring Joker’s rumbles and grumbles to himself as he resumed her suicide note.

By the time three o’clock rolled around, Joker had successfully written out the final draft of a worthy goodbye. Martha was barely coherent, eyes permanently pried open; all awareness for reality extinguished. Her fear had temporarily reduced her to a vegetative, insconscious state.

Because of this, it didn’t take much effort to move her hand in accordance to what Joker had written for her. Granted, it was somewhat sloppy, but what else did people expect from a mentally troubled individual?

Once this was finished, John opted to help Joker steady her atop the kitchen chair while he finished up the noose. It was wrapped snugly around the base of a ceiling fan. Martha was so far gone – _never to return_ – that she let them handle her body however they wanted.

It wasn’t long before her neck was forced into the noose and tightened to the point of nearly cutting off oxygen.

They stepped back from the finished work. Martha had only the kitchen chair beneath her feet preventing her from death.

“Like mother like daughter, eh?”

John wasn’t able to hold back a snicker at the comment.

“Since uh…I got here _first_ it’s only fair I do the honors.”

“By all means,” John offered.

Joker lifted his right leg and kicked the chair out from beneath Martha Graves’s feet.

She gasped and wheezed for what seemed like minutes, body spasming wildly; directionless and disoriented. The body was trying valiantly to combat death while the mind had already experienced the deterioration of sanity.

When she finally stopped moving, well and thoroughly deceased, Joker cocked his head, finger tapping at his chin. John eyed him warily.

_What more can he do to her in death?_

This question was soon answered.

Humming to himself, Joker trotted over to the light switches and flipped on the one furthest from him.

Immediately, the ceiling fan started to spin, Martha’s body spinning right along with it.

John watched in disbelief as Joker pulled out a cell phone and began to film the dead woman’s body, soaring in a perfect circle through the air like a limp pinata.

“Weeeee!” Joker added, giggling every so often. “I ah…I oughta send this into _Gotham’s Funniest Home Videos_. It’d be a _realll_ hoot, don’t ya think?”

Grimacing, John glanced down the hallway toward the back door.

“I’ve done what I came here to do. Have…fun.”

Joker sighed, lowering his phone.

“Such a sourpuss,” he mumbled. “Just ah…give me a sec, won’t ya?”

John left Joker to turn off the ceiling fan, grateful to be back outside in the fresh air. At some point the woman had soiled herself. It was quickly stinking up the inside.

“Old bag had expensive taste,” Joker declared after closing and locking the back door. “Want one?”

He shook a nearly empty pack of American Spirits.

_What’s gotten into him? It’s a wonder he hasn’t gone for me next._

“Sure.”

Whatever kept this uneasy peace.

He took one out of the pack and accepted the matches Joker handed him.

Whereas Joker’s drag was smooth and deep, John ended up coughing after the first hit; not having had a cigarette since high school. He ignored the clown’s laughter at him.

Save for the occasional screech of tires and buzzing from flickering streetlamps, the night was silent. Joker was already halfway through his while John debated discretely tossing it beneath his shoe, stubbing it out, and taking his leave.

_I cannot just yet…what Celine’s revealed to me about him…something needs to be said. She has his attention whether she wants it or not, especially in light of tonight’s actions. The least I can do is…redirect it in a helpful way. _

He chose his words very carefully.

“It is no secret why I am here,” he began, flicking a few ashes to the ground. “And as much as Scarecrow loathes me doing this for someone else’s benefit, I cannot find it in me to match his disgust. For a very long time the act of taking someone else’s life was an activity of self-indulgence and nothing more. More recently however…I’ve come to an epiphany.”

He refused to glance at the other man. This needed to be said with the utmost certainty.

“Killing someone for my benefit _and_ the benefit of someone else carries a more _potent_ euphoria. You get not only the thrill of stifling the life out of someone, but the knowledge that who you’re doing it for is better off because you had done what they perhaps could not. Making someone suffer is all well and good, but ultimately it is…_limiting_. To have a reason for it beyond your own self-interest brings an added enjoyability to it. Life suddenly is not so…monotonous.”

He let the cigarette drop from his hand, toe crushing it against the grass.

“Celine shared a quote with me once from a Zen Buddhist doctrine she was studying. ‘The root of all suffering is attachment’_. _I couldn’t help but point out how paradoxical it was to her nature. She assured me non-attachment and love could co-exist harmoniously. So long as one acknowledged nothing lasted forever, death was a natural part of life, people come and go without your control…then making the effort to love is always worth the risk. And I do love her. Very, very much. I would do anything within my power to make her life easier. To have purpose like that…to be the reason for someone else’s happiness…very little matches that.”

Joker’s cigarette butt soon joined his on the ground. A heavy hand struck the back of his shoulder. The fingernails dug into him tight.

“Next time I see ya,” Joker stated, all playfulness gone from his voice, “I’ll be taking my raincheck.”

He patted him twice on the cheek before sauntering away, whistling as he did so.

John buried his hands into his pockets and sighed.

_Did I only aggravate the situation?_

He shook his head. Someone like Joker would ruminate on what he’d just said in private. And if he was as obsessed with Celine as he suspected, he would attempt to figure out how he could be an asset to her as opposed to an obstacle.

Because there was no denying that’s what it was. Joker didn’t love. He viewed people as assets or expendables. He would venture a guess and say he didn’t quite know which category to put Celine in. Which was both good and bad. Good in that he would find any excuse to keep her alive until he figured it out. Bad in that if she ended up in the latter category, he didn’t foresee her living too much longer. He’d not had the courage to be upfront with her, but obsessed is exactly what Joker was. Tonight only re-verified that. If he could steer that obsession to benefit Celine…get him open to the idea of aiding her from the shadows as he did…remind him you could be fond of someone and not lose your villainous credentials…her chances of becoming an asset were that much greater. It was too late to shake loose Joker’s interest. He could only work with what was already at play.

_If it is as simple as that, why do I feel like I am not seeing something? Even ‘obsession’ seems too light of a term for his actions. _

He risked a last minute glance at his surroundings before heading off the opposite direction of the clown, mind reeling over all the possible outcomes of Joker and Celine’s acquaintanceship; wondering just what word, if any, he could use to describe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The things we do for love :' )  
Hopefully John's efforts aren't in vain! 
> 
> Next chapter Celine finally sees her dear, extra "perceptive" friend Agatha. It will be a very lengthy chapter and one that sort of establishes what kind of underlying theme will navigate this story. I intended to write their meeting a lot sooner (and it was one of the first exchanges I knew for certain would be written as soon as I started this story)...but Joker and Celine's antics have postponed it...which is good as it will make it all the more profound. 
> 
> Thank you for all the love and feedback y'all have graced me with. I hope everyone is safe and in good health. Take care of yourselves and each other.


	21. Chapter 21

Celine didn’t come to until just a little past noon. She had been content to live out the naughtiest dream she’d ever had involving a certain well-dressed clown, a yard stick, his tie, and her high school’s principal office. Needless to say, she was hot and bothered by the time consciousness returned to her. And may have spent a few minutes touching herself to relieve the ache between her legs.

That he’d wandered out of reality and into a sex dream should have bothered her, but honestly with how her week was going it served as one of the few truly pleasurable escapes. If dream him wanted to fuck her overtop the principal’s desk who was she to deny him? All that mattered is it stayed in the realm of fantasy where it belonged.

She’d forgotten to charge her phone over the night so plugged that in before gathering up a basket of clothes to do her laundry. At the last minute she ended up grabbing Joker’s purple glove and tossing it in with the rest of her clothes. Who knew where his pyromaniac hands have been? A successful clown was a clean clown.

It was only when she flicked on her TV that her well-rested mood subsided.

Martha Graves was dead.

A solemn reporter relayed that a family member checked in on her after she failed to show up for breakfast, only to find her body hanging from a ceiling fan along with a suicide note. In the note she admitted to being consumed with guilt for letting her daughter Elle be sexually assaulted by her then boyfriend. This admittance, plus Elle’s death, was ultimately too much for her. She also apologized to Celine for using her as a scapegoat for her grief.

Celine couldn’t help it. She started to laugh. Both hands covered her mouth to halt the onslaught of giggles. Tears leaked out of the corner of her eyes.

By all means none of this was funny. Her heart genuinely went out to Martha despite her actions of the past week. The headspace one had to be in to take their own life…that wasn’t something she would wish upon her worst enemy. At her core compassion extended even to the most self-absent of creatures. Martha’s suicide felt like a backhanded win.

None of it was funny, but in the span of one night her reputation was on its way to being restored and the individual responsible for tarnishing it would now join her daughter six feet under. The absurdity of it is what fueled her laughter.

When it was finally all out of her system, she frowned, brushing away at the remaining tears.

_What just happened? Martha’s suicide…I guess I can see it. Maybe John’s visit with her in the bathroom brought up buried guilt. And she realized taking it out on me wasn’t as cathartic as she wished it’d be. Still…the timing of it…is it possible John disobeyed my wishes and had a hand to play in her demise? Martha just seemed too…committed to bringing me down. _

She stood and walked over to her charging phone. Bruce had texted her about meeting for lunch. He no doubt wanted to discuss her miraculous change in fortune. She asked him if he’d be willing to come to her place for a meal. Who knew if the events of the last few hours would prompt another gathering of reporters outside her building? Her meeting later in the evening with Agatha was the only event worth coming out of hiding for.

Her text to John was short and sweet.

** _Did you have something to do with Martha’s death?_ **

Bruce got back to her first, promising to stop by shortly with takeout.

John responded just a few minutes later.

** _I could not stand idly by and let her defame you. If this strains our friendship, I apologize. But I will not apologize for defending the hard work you’ve put in to making Oz possible. She was a leech bent on bleeding you dry; applying a torch to her was the only way to remove her. Just as well…you may be interested to learn that by the time I arrived at her home she had another visitor already there with the same intentions as myself. _ **

Her brows furrowed.

He shot her one more text before going silent.

** _Do not take lightly Joker’s dedication to you. It runs deeper than either of us can fathom._ **

She lowered herself into the couch, tapping her phone against her forehead. A strangled noise escaped her. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

John going against her wishes wasn’t okay. She understood where he was coming from and wasn’t so removed from the situation as to not feel some form of flattery that he’d gone through the trouble. From his point of view, he considered it preserving her integrity. But her ‘no’ on helping her out meant _no_. Regardless of Martha’s vindictiveness, she didn’t deserve to end up hung from her own ceiling fan, likely with great struggle on her part.

How did she go about dealing with this? Not just her relationship with John, but Joker too as it turns out.

_What is it he said last night? No one was allowed to hurt me but him. I get why John did it. Joker on the other hand…what does he have to gain from this? Did Martha’s persecution of me really bother him that much? Or is this just him protecting his investment? That investment being…me._

She ran a hand through her hair, fighting down the sudden urge to scream. Her emotions were scrambled all over the place. Disbelief, frustration, regret. And at the root of all those emotions rested guilt. She felt like she’d signed Martha’s death warrant.

_Stop it. This is exactly the headspace I need to pull myself out of. I am not responsible for their actions. Blaming myself is going backwards, not forward._

How did she move forward from this then? It seemed callous to ignore Gotham’s most villainous figures dealing with her tormentor in such a brutal way. But lingering on it only worsened the self-blame. What was the balance between the two? Did John deserve to be forgiven more than Joker despite them being equally culpable?

_Here’s an idea…I knock Joker out. Then put him in a crate. Then have Bruce ship him off to an uninhabited island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Maybe the island will have snakes. Maybe turtles. He can become their leader. He can become their Jokester-in-Chief. He can rule as he sees fit. _

Imagining him stranded on an island did make her feel a little bit better. Maybe he’d resort to using mud as his makeup? Maybe he’d grow out his facial hair? He’d turn a lovely shade of tan no doubt. Tone up his already fit body trying to construct a sleeping shelter out of natural resources…

She groaned, eyes squeezing shut. One hand was tempted to roam further south, but she wouldn’t allow it. Her basement didn’t need to be any more flooded than it already was.

_This is so fucked. He killed someone for my benefit and I’m getting turned on. _

She laughed a little at that.

_There’s no point in overthinking this. What was it Bruce Lee said? Be water, my friend. Formless, shapeless, adaptable…ever flowing. There is no easy fix to all this. John doesn’t regret what he did, he’ll wait however long it takes for me to forgive him. Joker on the other hand…he needs to be dealt with. His homicidal impulses are far worse than John’s. He’s the more severe threat between the two. If I don’t like him killing others for me, then I do something about it. I’m not helpless. I know I can’t take his life, so what option does this leave me? Arkham. I get him caught. By Bruce specifically. I…don’t want him harmed unnecessarily. He gets captured, put on a daily helping of the most powerful sedative…something that doesn’t give him the energy to escape again. It will have to be daily, he’s too dangerous otherwise. _

The longer she thought this over, the more encouraged she felt to begin formulating a plan with Bruce. It was time she practiced what she preached. She warned him to leave her alone. If he wasn’t going to respect those wishes, she’d show him the consequences of ignoring them. No more Miss Nice Celine. Their acquaintanceship ended now.

By the time Bruce arrived she was in slightly better spirits. It was as if she’d been wandering aimlessly in a fog since meeting Joker. Now, the fog was finally clearing and so was the answer to what she needed to do. Reclaiming that focus felt so very empowering.

“You’ve been drinking,” she stated as soon as he brushed past her to set down their food. “Expensive scotch from the smells of it.”

“If there was ever an occasion for it…” he trailed off.

“Did you drive here?”

He met her sharp look with a weary sigh.

“Alfred drove and he’ll pick me back up. I’m not stupid.”

Her shoulders relaxed.

“Sorry,” she voiced. “Today’s been…yeah, what you said. I’m tempted to join in. How uh…how’s it look outside? Will I have to slip out the backdoor again?”

“You’re in the clear,” he assured, opening up a tray of food and handing it to her. “The few family members Martha had left are on the receiving end of the media’s scrutiny. The articles that are going to be printed about her won’t be pretty.”

That same guilt from earlier returned to gnaw at her. How morbidly appropriate for her to die not only physically, but posthumously as well.

“Despite everything, I feel sorry that it ended like this,” she said.

Bruce took a moment to respond, forking up some noodles from his tray.

“There is a rumor floating around of a neighbor hearing laughter come from her home late last night. It wasn’t hers.”

She averted his gaze, eyeing her tray instead.

“You think Martha’s suicide was staged?”

He shrugged.

“No foul play has been reported, but I have a hunch that there is more than meets the eye.”

She tried to eat her food without growing red beneath Bruce’s scrutinous stare. Unfortunately, he didn’t let up and the silence was only making the air that much more tense.

“Out with it,” she blurted. “Who do you suspect?”

“The same person you do.”

“Bugs Bunny?”

He wasn’t amused by this response.

“Would it kill you to take this seriously? She may have been a thorn in our side, but that isn’t grounds for death. If we don’t take initiative, Joker will strike again. It seems his fixation on you is far more dangerous than I previously assumed.”

She was slightly hurt by the remark but didn’t let on.

“Fine. We’re going to set a trap,” she said. “I lure him here. Shoot him with your taser gun and knock him out. We get him to Arkham. We help oversee that he gets the proper dosage of sedatives. We make sure only the best guards are assigned to him. No chance of his threat level being lowered, he stays at the highest one possible.”

He nodded.

“You’re sure you can get him here?”

“I have his number. I’ll tell him I want to thank him in person for all he’s done. His pride won’t be able to say no to that. You can be here too if you want. Just in case I miss.”

“You’re sure?”

“You wanted me to take it seriously. This is me doing that.”

“Okay.” He closed his tray. “When?”

“Tomorrow evening. You can get here earlier in the day. Come up my fire escape. He usually comes in through the front door.”

Bruce froze.

“Usually?”

_Ah…fuck. _

“…yeah.”

He crossed his arms and pinned her in place with a stormy glare.

“How many times has he been here besides the one time you told me about?”

“Just…one other time.”

“Celine…”

She threw her arms up in frustration.

“You said it yourself, I’m a big girl. I can handle myself. As you can see, I’m still in one piece.”

“Of course you are it’s what you two do alone that-.”

He dropped his gaze and gritted his teeth.

“That what?” She stomped toward him. “That what Bruce? What do you think we get up to when he breaks into my apartment uninvited?”

She was faintly aware it was the liquor that had made him looser lipped. But his words…she knew he’d been meaning to voice them for a while.

“You’re soft for him,” he accused. “And that softness has not only gotten someone killed but will guarantee your own end too if you continue behaving this irresponsibly. Joker is not someone you can domesticate. He’s not someone you can reason with. No matter how you think he feels about you, he _will_ bite the hand that feeds him for no other reason than making it bleed. It’s only a matter of time. You know all this. But you still let him…”

Her eye was twitching. It was taking a strenuous amount of patience not to blow up on him. Because he was one of the few whose opinions mattered, his disappointment in her was only that much more grueling.

“Let him what?” she asked tightly.

His eyes shot below her chin.

“Your neck was covered in hickeys after his first time here. That you didn’t even feel shame enough to try hiding them makes me think…” He inhaled deeply and shook his head. “It makes me think you like his attention. It makes me think you like him…touching you. And the thought of you being receptive to his advances…_disgusts_ me. You’ve lost your way. This isn’t the Celine I know.”

Her hands were shaking. She worked on trying to keep her breaths even. It was a rapidly losing battle.

“You mean it’s not the Celine you want me to be,” she retorted. “News flash for you Bruce I don’t live to cater to your perception of me. I’ve handled him as best as I could given the fact that he’s been able to get to me no matter how often I’ve tried deterring his attentions. If how I’ve handled him disgusts you that goddamn much then maybe you’re better off being friends with someone else.”

His jaw clenched.

“Maybe I am.”

Oh, that stung. Worse than she anticipated it to.

“Get. _Out_.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

In the aftermath of his exit she grabbed her fork and stabbed the Styrofoam tray twelve times. She then threw the fork across her living room and ran both hands through her hair, fingers gripping onto the locks until her skull started to throb.

Her knees gave out. She let her body drop and curl up on the floor, arms circling around her legs, teeth digging into her bottom lip.

It was a conversation she had hoped they would never have. But Bruce being Bruce…just sly enough to make you think he was nonethewiser…it was inevitable he would bring it up. And he chose just the right words to make her feel even shittier than she already did.

Worse yet, he had been spot on about something. Joker _had_ caused her to lose her way. She consensually allowed him to touch her with hands that joyously spilled blood. She let him comfort her just the other night without immediately calling the police. She was passive with him and that emboldened him to think that what was happening between them was okay. It wasn’t. Though he did a shit job of reminding her, the message was crystal clear. For her personal wellbeing Joker needed to be dealt with. With or without Bruce’s involvement.

She would go through with what the plan she’d constructed earlier. Lure him here tomorrow. Tase him. Call the police. Get him somewhere he could do no further harm. Where he couldn’t compromise her more than he already had. It was for the greater good. The betterment of all. Whatever fondness she had toward him needed to be extinguished once and for all.

_This means I’ll be on his shit list. For real this time. Once he realizes I screwed him over…_

She didn’t care to harp on that thought. Surprisingly, it wasn’t because of the possible consequences for fucking him over. Rather it was how fucking him over made her feel.

Not good. Not good at all.

Celine closed her eyes and hugged herself tighter.

_I should have never opened my mouth in that church. _

***

It was unusually breezy by the time she arrived at Agatha’s store _House of Intuition_. The neon green closed sign had just been switched on. Below it blinked a red emblem of the third eye.

She knocked once, peering around out of habit. Although the front of her apartment building had been reporter-free, she still received some looks on the way over here. She could almost read their minds as she hustled past them.

‘Wait, I know you from somewhere. Aren’t you-?’

She didn’t plan on lingering long enough to let them fill in the blank.

Upon peeking through the blinds, Agatha beamed. She unlocked the door and stepped aside to let her in.

The moment Celine’s eyes landed on the woman; her body instantly did its own equivalent of a deep sigh.

“I have missed you so much it’s not even funny,” she stated, moving towards the woman.

They embraced tightly, one of Agatha’s hands reaching up to stroke the back of her head.

Agatha was just a little bit taller than Celine, boasting frizzy long black hair with natural gray highlights woven in. Her skin was a gorgeous warm bronze and she had darkest brown eyes she’d ever glimpsed in a person. This evening she was clad in a floral-patterned yellow dress and moccasin sandals. An amethyst crystal rested around her neck instead of the jasper stone she so often saw on her.

“You are so tense dear,” Agatha murmured. “Relax. You’re in good company.”

She tried her best to loosen up her body in the woman’s arms.

“This past month has just been-I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

They pulled away. Agatha reached up and cupped Celine’s jaw, tilting her head gently to the left and then to the right.

“I am sorry to see your spark has dulled since we last met. Thankfully, I won’t be letting you leave like this.” She took a step back and examined the empty space surrounding her upper torso. “Come, I’ve made tea.”

She followed Agatha inside, locking the door behind them.

They made their way to the back of the store, Celine’s eyes roving over the aisles of items as they passed. Spell books, incense sticks, bound-books on interpreting dreams, crystals, tarot card packs, palm reading guides, bundles of sage, mandolin tapestries, meditation manuals both on CDs and in book form, handmade statuettes depicting various gods and goddesses, marble altars, an entire wall dedicated to herbs for spell casting…anything spiritual or wiccan-related one needed, Agatha carried.

It was by dumb luck she’d discovered this store. Almost four years ago, on the seventh anniversary of her mom’s death she had been killing time in a part of Gotham she wasn’t as familiar with. Anything to get her mind off of the loss that still felt at times like a freshly inflicted wound.

Her attention had been drawn to a beautiful Showshoe cat watching her from behind the window front of Agatha’s store. Its piercing blue eyes followed her every movement no matter which direction she stepped. Before she could deter her feet, they were entering the store.

The Snowshoe had hopped down from its perch and sauntered in between the aisles, her hot on its heels. It ended up pausing at an endcap hosting an array of tarot card decks.

She’d known next to nothing then about tarot cards or tarot card readings. Mediums, psychics, dabblers of the paranormal…it’s not that she scoffed at these sorts of people, but rather her healthy skepticism prevented her from taking their credentials seriously. Though a firm believer in the existence of a soul, in a life after death where the soul transcends, dimensions of existence that were imperceptible to the human eye, drug or plant-induced altered states of consciousness that allowed one to pick up on higher frequency beings…she wasn’t as willing to suspend her disbelief for persons claiming they had premonitions or conversations with the departed or extra sensory knowledge of past, present, and future events. There either had to be a logical explanation or they were just trying to pull one over on the vulnerable for financial gain. The surest way to avoid getting fooled was to remain stoic and give nothing away in body language.

Agatha had snuck up on her as she perused the various tarot card decks, unsure what she was even looking for.

_“It appears Ghost has taken to you.”_

_She glanced down at the cat gazing unblinkingly up at her. Then up at the woman watching her with a serene half smile. One look into her eyes and Celine knew this woman to be good. It practically radiated off of her like the inside of an oven, nearly causing her to take a step closer just to bask in her warmth. _

_“Does he always stare customers down until they’re manipulated into taking a peek inside?”_

_Her smile was coy. _

_“No, but it certainly helps with the foot traffic.” She gave her a once over, not bothering to hide her curiosity. Celine felt cross-examined by both cat and woman. “First time in a store like this?”_

_“Yes. I don’t really know why I’m here.”_

_She nodded._

_“Life is funny like that, isn’t it? It will construct for you a path to walk but offer no clues as to why or what the end destination is. Often those answers reveal themselves in moments of retrospection. Awfully inconvenient to the inquiring mind, but I’m a firm believer there is always a reason, even if that reason has not yet fully been revealed to us. It is all a matter of…trust. Intuition cannot scientifically be explained and yet you discuss its presence with just about anyone and they will agree listening to it is beneficial and aids us in navigating this life. It would appear yours has led you here. Well, that and Ghost. And you’ve conveniently taken to examining something I specialize in.”_

_Celine’s eyes returned to the tarot cards. _

_“You read them?” she confirmed, tilting her head. “How? Sorry if I sound ignorant about it … it’s never made sense to me.”_

_“Would you care for a reading?”_

_She grimaced._

_“How much is it going to be?”_

_“Consider it on me. An apology for letting Ghost tempt you inside. He’s generally very passive but can be quite the rascal when left to his own devices.”_

_Ghost meowed proudly at this, weaving his way in between the woman’s legs. Something must have caught his attention for he trotted away seconds later, back to the perch at the storefront. _

_“I’m Agatha,” she introduced, extending a hand. _

_“Celine.”_

_They shook hands, causing Agatha to smile._

_“You have a solid foundation in you.”_

_“Oh…um…thank you?”_

_She didn’t quite know what to make of the comment._

_“Come.”_

_They made their way to the back of the store, Agatha relaying to the other woman working the counter that she would be back in thirty. _

_Beyond two pale green curtains was a smaller, cozier section of the store. A sturdy, dark brown roundtable was the first thing to catch Celine’s eye. The lighting in the space was considerably dimmer and more intimate. Two wooden chairs were gathered around the table. _

_“Would you like some tea?”_

_Celine nodded, accepting a partially chipped teacup steaming with the scent of chamomile. Agatha took a seat in one of the chairs and she followed suit, blowing at her drink. _

_“Seeing as this is your first time, I don’t wish to overwhelm you. We’ll do your reading from my Major Arcana deck…it is the one you’ll find sold in most stores. This deck has your common cards…The Fool, The Hanged Man, The Lovers, etcetera and so forth. Now, there are a few ways I can do this,” she began, pulling out a deck of tarot cards and languidly shuffling them. “We can go the route of asking specific questions. We can go the route of a past, present, and future reading. Or I can simply ask if there is anyone attempting to convey a message to you who has passed.”_

_She could feel her skeptical nature roll her eyes at the choices. For the time being, she forced a muzzle on it. This experience would be approached with an open mind until Agatha gave her a reason not to view it as such. _

_“I-.” She cleared her throat, tempted to choose the last one but not wanting to exacerbate her sadness or make it easy for Agatha to pick up on her emotional state. “Let’s do the middle option.”_

_Agatha nodded, continuing to shuffle the deck until she thought it sufficiently reorganized. She then extended the deck to her, thumbs shifting the cards apart to look like an upside holding fan. _

_“Choose any three that you feel drawn to.”_

_She eyed each of the cards carefully before snatching two from the middle and one from the very end. _

_Agatha deposited the rest of the deck on her right-hand side. She then asked her to flip each of them over in whatever order she desired._

_Upon doing so, she watched Agatha’s index finger tap against each card, humming lightly under her breath as she did so. _

_“For your past, The Sun was drawn,” she revealed. “However, it is reversed. That is its pointed away from me. I sense…you were…struggling for a long time. Significant inner turmoil…a thunderous cloud rumbling inside you, preventing you from seeing glimpses of light. You always knew it was there, it’s just…taken time finding it again. You are…more well acquainted with sadness than most…but made an important choice one day to not let it dictate what you want out of this life.”_

_She was peering intensely at the Sun card, brows knitted together. Celine kept her expression blank. It was an accurate ascertation, but one that could be made just about anyone residing in Gotham. If you didn’t have your wits about you, this city could be nothing but sadness._

_“Congratulations,” Agatha mentioned suddenly, peering up at her. “On not opening up the fifth in your cupboard. That is a promising show of will…I’m excited to see what your future will hold, but…one thing at a time.”_

_Try as she might on staying neutral, the fifth in her cabinet comment had her internally reeling. There was no way she could have known that. Nothing about her outward appearance screamed alcoholic anymore. And the way she phrased it…_

_Releasing a shaky breath, Celine rolled her shoulders back. She’d attribute it to an extremely lucky guess. _

_Taking a sip from her tea, she watched Agatha’s focus avert to the second card. Instantly, her lips peeled back into a smile. _

_“The Wheel of Fortune…upright. Toward me. Exciting, very exciting.” She looked up at Celine, tilting her head slightly. “I said earlier you have a solid internal foundation. I can…sense you’ve worked hard on creating a healthy relationship with your mind and your higher conscious self…the soul if you will. You know right from wrong, you know when to extend love and compassion and when to guard yourself as a means of self-preservation. These are important attributes to be sure…but it is crucial to keep in mind…there is a lot of gray in this world. Many situations you have and will encounter that forces an adaptable frame of mind. Continue nourishing that adaptability…it will get you far. The Wheel of Fortune signifies what you already know…change is inevitable. And you’ve suspected recently it is on the horizon for you…be ready when it comes.”_

_She turned her attention to the last card._

_Celine’s shoulders were hunched together. Her body was leaning forward, ears glued to every word. Accurate yes, but surely…surely this could be said about anyone and anything. Yes, she had felt…had sensed something was coming…got a thrill up her spine anytime she envisioned what it could be. The outline of an idea for an app was drawn up in a notebook that currently sat on her living room table along with the beginnings of coding for said app. She had to refrain from blurting out if this change at all had to do with it. _

_“And lastly…The Magician,” she said. “Upside. This one is…tricky…and then again it isn’t. You have been working on something that is close to your heart. A passion project…something that will give voice to others whose are still stuck beneath that stormy cloud you lived under for so long. Your heart is in it. Good. You are motivated, though fear sharing this idea with anyone. It cannot stay locked up in your head, can it?”_

_Not until Agatha gazed at her did she realize how hard she was holding her breath. Exhaling sharply, she lowered her eyes to the chip in her teacup. _

_“No, it can’t. I-I know it would be utilized…Gotham’s yearly suicide rate is abysmal. The amount of insurance companies that don’t cover mental health services is motivation alone to create this. But…there is still so much to figure out. Money is the biggest setback.”_

_Agatha was silent for a few moments._

_“Oz Ascending you’re thinking of calling it?” she inquired. “Short for Oizys, the Greek Goddess of Grief, Misery, and Depression.”_

_Celine blinked._

_“How the **fuck** did you know that?”_

_Agatha thankfully took her colorful astonishment in good humor._

_“All these cards have meaning depending on which way they land…your choice of each…picking them out by hand…attunes them to your energy.” She leaned back and clasped her hands. “Clairvoyance is what many would call what I do…it is what I utilize in interpreting these cards…though…sometimes words or phrases pop into my head…sometimes I close my eyes and an image appears…usually relevant but I am prone to the spontaneous daydream every now and again. This last time I blinked; I saw a college rule notebook upon a coffee table with the words ‘Oz Ascending’ scribbled in hasty cursive from a recently sharpened pencil.”_

_She shook her head, mouth forming around a crowd of words desperately seeking answers. _

_“You said my energy is absorbed by them,” she decided on. “How do you mean?”_

_“The cards serve as a receptor if you will. When you chose yours and touched them, though you could not see it, energy was exchanged. After all, what are we at our most base, physiological form? If we were to shine the world’s greatest microscope onto our bodies, what would we see?”_

_“Atoms. And within those atoms’ quarks and photons that give off energy. Naked to our eye…for the most part lacking matter…but there nevertheless.” _

_“And are you a believer in the soul?”_

_“I am.”_

_“What do you suspect the soul is comprised of?”_

_This was a question she had spent a good portion of the last decade ruminating on. She thought she had an answer, but there were so many possibilities she didn’t want to commit herself to one answer just in case she was blind to another. She’d read countless philosophical works and essays by spiritual leaders and mystics on the soul…but it was perhaps one of her favorite comedians Bill Hicks who said it best during a stand-up special of his from the 1980’s._

** _“Today a young man on acid realized that all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration, that we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively, there is no such thing as death, life is only a dream, and we are the imagination of ourselves. Heres Tom with the Weather.”_ **

_The commentary held the privilege of tickling her pink while simultaneously easing her. She’d been so serious about finding a right answer that she forgot to listen to what the voice within believed after absorbing so much varying information. _ _And under Agatha’s encouraging gaze, an answer wasn’t so difficult to produce. _

_“A form of energy, separate of that composing our physical bodies, that we can’t even begin to mathematically equate because our human form limits us,” she guessed. “I don’t think the soul is a human construct, but a byproduct of a potentially conscious universe. And the soul vibrates on a frequency we as a species are rarely able to tune into because that frequency requires us to…this is going to sound corny…but to love unconditionally. I think so long as we are conscious, so too are our thoughts…so too are our emotions…and both can either cause us to vibrate higher or lower. Though we can’t perceive it as you said, all we are is energy reacting to energy. Be it the physical or subconscious form.”_

_“My,” she stated. “Inquiring mind indeed. I agree with much of what you said. Personally speaking, I also believe that every human being upon birth has an extra sensory gift stored within them. Be it precognition, clairvoyance, telepathy, mediumship…for some it is a combination. Over time, we lose touch with these gifts. Quite often it is due to environment. Society is not so inclined to believe in that which cannot be immediately perceived by the five primary senses. Just as well, major religions have in the past burned, tortured, and crucified those exhibiting these gifts. By all means it is easier to submerge and forget than to acknowledge and cultivate. If I hadn’t had the upbringing I did, I would have fallen into the former.”_

_Her expression briefly turned nostalgic before her attention returned to the conversation._

_“The physical human body provides us with five senses…so…where do these extrasensory ones hail from? Most would be inclined to say God. And they are right. Though, my interpretation of God may vary slightly from theirs or yours. God to me is what resides in the soul of every living creature. It is not an identity nor physical manifestation…it is the most potent, heightened energy in the universe. And you already mentioned it earlier…what’s more powerful a force than anything else?”_

_It left her mouth without hesitance._

_“Love.”_

_“Precisely…you knowing this despite your past gives you an advantage. Pain often leads us astray from this truth.” She interlocked her fingers and smiled. “The vibration that is love…that is God…that is what’s stored within our soul…it is from here I believe these extra senses come. And it is this energy I have taught myself to tune into. It is this energy you carry within you as well.”_

_The more Agatha explained, the more it felt like a long-elusive puzzle piece was falling into place. For so long she refused to settle on one theory. Nothing could be ruled out. Plato once claimed Socrates said, “The only thing I know is that I know nothing.” She’d always loved that narration because it liberated her from the pressure of investing in one specific belief system. It encouraged her to consider everything without the pesky need to be right. And though being so open had benefited her, certain experiences – glimpsing her soul while on magic mushrooms, naturally gravitating toward spiritual leaders like Alan Watts and the Dalai Lama who emphasized love was the universal language, her intuition being spot on once she began to put her trust in it – made her wonder if humans weren’t instinctively predisposed to believe in something. Be it the higher self or some form of a creator. _

_Not until Agatha shared her perspective did Celine realize just how aligned, subconsciously, her own views were with the woman. Remarkably, she felt none of the panic that usually set in when she allowed herself to believe in one theory more than the other. None of the anxiety of potentially being wrong. _

_“You’re the real deal,” Celine stated, shaking her head a little. “Unless you drugged my tea and I’m hallucinating all this.”_

_She lifted her right hand._

_“Guilty.”_

_Her jaw slackened. Agatha immediately tried to cover up her chuckles. _

_“I assure you…the tea is just tea.” She relocated her gaze down to the Magician card. “A final thing I feel compelled to tell you…do the initials BW mean anything to you?”_

_Butt Water? Bar Worker? Baby Wacker? _

_“That’s pretty vague,” she admitted, chewing at her lower lip._

_“Story of my life,” Agatha lamented. “Sometimes it remains vague no matter how much I focus. But in this instance…those initials combined with this card facing upward…they will be a positive presence in your life, instrumental in helping you with Oz. So, keep an eye out, but don’t strain yourself trying to find an answer in everyone and everything. It will all happen when it is meant to. You just have a slight advantage of knowing what to look for when it does.”_

_She found herself nodding, mind wracking over all the information she’d obtained in the past half hour. _

_“And that concludes your reading,” Agatha announced, gathering the three cards back into the deck and reshuffling them. “I oughta thank Ghost for piquing your interest. It is clear you needed this. I also quite enjoyed your company…we have…similar worldviews. I suspect there is much we can learn from each other.”_

_She thought back to why she’d been outside Agatha’s store to begin with. _

_“I-I don’t mean to overstay my welcome or take advantage of your…gift…but now that I know you’re well- you’re you…I was um…wondering if-um………you know what nevermind. Sorry, sorry.”_

_Agatha reclined in her chair, eyeing her with a look of understanding. _

_“I was wondering who she might be. She’s yet to leave your side. Usually, they’ll pop around to check on their loved ones. But this one…radiates with the sort of devotion I only ever see from a mother to a child. Nora is her name?”_

_Celine gulped before discretely looking around. _

_“She’s…here?”_

_“Always almost is,” Agatha promised, staring at the empty space behind her right shoulder. “She says that while she’s proud of you for working so passionately on the creation of Oz, you need to add something else into your diet besides Ramen Noodles and cereal.”_

_Her eyes suddenly went wide. _

_“Does she uh…watch me while I-?”_

_She curled her fingers into a fist and made a couple of jerking motions. _

_“Your private time remains private,” she assured, trying to cover her up her grin. _

_Celine nodded, extremely relieved to hear that. _

_“She says she’s proud of you,” she went on. “But you need to learn to forgive yourself. She understands you weren’t in the right frame of mind to attend her funeral. She was actually with you that day. And her heart broke at seeing you a shell of your former self. She wishes she’d have listened to her gut and come visit you at least once. Perhaps then you wouldn’t have felt so alone.”_

_Her bottom lip quivered. Tears involuntarily prodded at the corners of her eyes. _

_“I’m sorry,” she murmured, wiping at her nose. “I wish I’d been stronger.”_

_Agatha shook her head, reaching out for her hand. Celine gently lowered hers into it, unable to keep the tears at bay any longer._

_“Just because you lacked the strength then doesn’t mean you aren’t strong. We all lose our way at some point in our life. The important thing is you’ve found your way back. Not everyone has that luxury. Be satisfied with the progress you’ve made…it’s only going to get better from here.” Her hand squeezed hers. “And even if it doesn’t…Nora will be with you every step of the way. She is but one of a handful silently guiding you…looking out for you. You…you are more loved than you’ll ever know.”_

_An ugly sob flew out of her. Her shoulders quaked violently. It hurt and yet…nothing in the world felt better. Guilt that’d lessened over time but never fully receded…it was time for its permanent departure. Something beckoned the feeling away…it no longer served a purpose…and she was more than willing to help see it out. _

_The hairs on the back of her neck tingled. She closed her eyes and felt something brush against her nape. Agatha watched on with a tender expression. _

_“I can feel her,” she sounded out quietly, voice slightly hoarse. “How is that possible?”_

_“As I said,” Agatha answered softly, “we all have extrasensory gifts stored within us. Yours have been on their way to being dug up for quite some time. It also helps that you listen to your intuition when it speaks to you. If you would like…if you are serious about this…I can help you find out what those gifts are. Find them and help develop them as they were meant to be.”_

_It wasn’t even a consideration to say no. In the span of thirty minutes she felt as if she’d bathed in a warm pond and re-emerged a cleaner, more fully realized self. There was a whole other world inside her all this time and she never knew how to go about accessing it. Not until now. _

_“Yes please,” was her shaky response. _

_“Excellent. I can’t way to begin this journey with you, Celine.”_

When she met with Agatha a month later, her cat Ghost had a companion in the form of an amber-gold Persian long hair. Pangea, Agatha had christened her as. Ghost was long overdue for a feline friend and the two got on so well they’d become practically inseparable. Pangea also took to crawling onto Celine’s lap any chance she allotted it; wholly demandful of pettings and attention. It had been a struggle not to cat-nap her when Agatha wasn’t looking.

They had discussed meditation at great length as being one of the key avenues of tapping into the higher self and allowing her gift, whatever it may be, to flourish. Celine wasn’t new to meditation but had never taken the time to form it into a daily habit. It quite often occurred incidentally, either while she was taking a lengthy shower or left alone to ruminate on the day’s events just before slumber or under the influence of a potent psychedelic. She’d only witnessed glimpses of her soul, never in its entirety.

So, for the next few months while Agatha worked up front, she took to sealing herself away in the backroom for thirty minutes to an hour. During this time, she listened closely to a guided meditation on a CD from a revered yogi in the north of India. Nothing out of the ordinary happened initially. She would sit cross legged, breathing in and out along with the low, soothing voice from the CD, eyes shut, desperately attempting to empty her mind of all thoughts. Easier said than done she learned very quickly. The more she tried not to think, the more thoughts bubbled out of her. It was discouraging to say the least.

_“It’s not working,” she’d relayed to Agatha after the eighth session. “I feel silly just sitting there in the dark, waiting for something to happen.”_

_“Try focusing on developing a rhythmic sort of breathing pattern with your inhales and exhales. The silence will come eventually.”_

_“It does come eventually,” she agreed. “But it takes so long to get there. And nothing happens beyond it.”_

_“Hmm…how about I let you take the CD home with you then? See if a more familiar environment can help. It’s difficult to say what exactly will prompt the connection…everyone’s ability to tune in is different.”_

That’s when a breakthrough had occurred.

She’d reached that silent, meditative state sooner than any of the sessions past. A tingling had begun to prick in the center of her forehead. And then like a sheet being lifted off a piece of dusty furniture, she’d seen it. Her eyes were closed, but vivid images filtered before her. Quickly at first, too swift to give name to. Followed by a kaleidoscope of warm colors.

Her body hummed with pleasure and the area between her shoulder blades felt like something invisible was sinking in and spreading out. Not a painful feeling in the least, just…a little _intense, _almost like being tickled roughly by an unseen masseuse…and not something she’d experienced often enough in her life to consider familiar.

The occurrence had been brief…eventually everything returned to the black she so frequently saw every time she closed her eyes. Her body cooled its jets, all hints of humming dispersing. But it was enough incentive to continue nurturing the habit. She’d accessed that all on her own. Her soul was just waiting to communicate right back. Cyclical breathing and stillness of mind appeared to be the key.

During this time, she and Agatha gathered one of her natural extrasensory gifts to be clairsentience. She could read and experience the emotions of others.

She’d always been excellent at reading body language, sensing feelings by tone of voice…sometimes a truth would come to her about a person without them saying a single thing. _What a coincidence_ had been a recurrent thought of hers growing up. And though the worst years of her depression made her think that inherent knowledge had disappeared, as she healed and read up on the works of spiritual leaders, it all began to return.

This was by far the toughest thing to believe herself capable of without definitive, scientific proof. For so long she had attested this knowledge to dumb luck. One of her married neighbors reeked of guilt because they’d been unfaithful and days later a screaming match had broken out through the entire building? Dumb luck. Someone she passed on her way out of a convenience store wracked with nerves for what they were about to do, robbing it shortly after? Dumb luck. It was so convenient and habitual to chuck it up to dumb luck or an educated guess that it took some getting used to separating what was a thought and what was an intuitive truth.

What helped immensely was Agatha allowing her to hang out around the store and observe customers coming in and out. She would attempt to read them discretely, sometimes not able to conclude anything, other times being able to read the person as if she had a part of their autobiography tucked away in her brain. Often it was the eyes that gave it away, sometimes it was the way their shoulders sagged as they walked, sometimes it was the hastiness or patience with which they spoke. 

These observations extended to her daily life and all those she encountered. She’d known her landlord Miss Pendergrass was widowed and childless from the moment she shook hands with the woman. This was later confirmed in their discussions. She’d known the co-host anchors on the morning telecast _Good Morning Gotham _were sleeping with each other despite both being married. When that affair had gone public, she’d felt strangely validated.

More often than not, she was spot on, though some people were easier to pinpoint the emotions of than others.

The easiest ones tended to be those who suffered from some sort of grief or sadness. She was wholly familiar with these emotions and could pick up on them quickly. It had become custom to show these individuals as much compassion as possible, even if it was just being a listening ear. People suffering often wanted others to know they were, even if they lacked the ability to communicate this. A good amount ended up being grateful, though a few reacted with hostility. Not everyone was willing to acknowledge that pain, let alone having a stranger do so.

The most difficult ones to read were those who lived in a state of disillusion. What they knew internally didn’t match up with how they were living their lives externally. It was always a struggle of whether to ask them about it or let them continue living in blissful ignorance.

Agatha had understood this conflict without Celine having to voice it.

_“You are progressing along nicely with developing your ability. The next step is perhaps one of the more confusing. I know someone is suffering or unhealed or living inauthentically…do I risk helping them? Do they want my help? That…is on every individual to decide for themselves. Some hurt people…all they want to do is hurt people. Perhaps as atonement for the injustices they themselves suffered. Some hurt people…they are looking for a new way to be…to work through their pain and insecurities. All they lack is guidance. It is on you alone to decide who to use your gift for. There is no right or wrong choice, though…always keep in mind there is a difference between those who wish to be helped and those who don’t. This will save you a lot of stress and life-threatening situations down the road.”_

She’d accepted this advice without protest. One of the most difficult epiphanies she’d come to as a child was learning not everyone shared her heart...her mercy…her compassion. Having been a hypersensitive kid, these learning experiences ended up wounding her deeply. And although she had tended to these wounds…kissed and nurtured them back to health…the underlying lesson couldn’t be forgotten. No matter how much love she wished to bathe others in, self-preservation needed to accompany that desire to help. Perfecting this balance was crucial.

Eventually, the hard work started to pay off. The more she meditated and relied on her gift, the more in alignment her mind, body, and soul became. Her mind was already sharp, and she worked on expanding it daily with reading anything she could get her hands on and interacting with Gothamites from all walks of life, further expanding her understanding of the spectrum of human emotions. Her body benefited from a shift to a less processed diet (it was _agonizing_ having to part with her Cheddar and Sour Cream Ruffles, but hey commitment was commitment) and falling into a routine of doing something active at least once a day, be it a stroll around Gotham or self-defense classes or a therapeutic yoga session. And the soul gathered strength and clarity the more she relied on its intuitive voice.

In moments of deep meditation, she would begin to feel the lifeforce beating within her that was so often spoken of in Taoism, emanating nothing short of grace, love, and tranquility. It offered her stillness, rejuvenation, and bolstered the calmness she worked tirelessly at making the foundation of her very core. If she could have somewhere special to retreat to when life got burdensome and uncertain, somewhere she could step back from her physical body and see things as they were, tune into a voice existing within that offered clear and concise guidance…that was a place she was eager to make a home out of. The harder she worked at cultivating this, the easier it was to tap into. And the more of a tangible presence she would glimpse when her eyes were closed, and her third eye was open.

As Agatha had predicted, The Wheel of Fortune brought with it change. Namely in the form of an investor she was sure would barely give her the time of day. Within a year of making Agatha’s acquaintance, the outline of _Oz_ had been finished; the rough draft of a code established…she only needed to pique the interest of someone financially equipped to help expand those beginnings into a reality.

It’d not occurred to her initially that the BW initials Agatha had provided her with so long ago would translate to one very affluent playboy named Bruce Wayne.

The first meeting between them consisted of him nearly hitting her with his car as she was crossing the street. Barely an inch separated the metal hood of his black Lamborghini with her thigh. A plethora of curses were resting on the tip of her tongue, but they were swallowed down with some ease. Her daily meditations had taught her to observe emotions, not absorb. As temporarily heated and caught off guard as she’d been, calmness had soon been restored.

To her amazement, Bruce Wayne _was_ capable of apologizing profusely. He was in a rush to get to work after a night involving him, $12,000 worth of champagne, and two rambunctious socialites. She’d not had a good first impression of him, content to believe that for once the tabloids had it right.

Nevertheless, she accepted his phone number and a promise of a free meal to make up for the near-death collision. She’d been sorely tempted to choose the most expensive place in Gotham…make the playboy sweat a little for her own amusement…but ultimately chose a dimly lit dive bar that was home to Gotham’s more…alternative crowd when the sun disappeared. Still make him sweat, but in an affordable way.

Though initially uncomfortable with the locale, it didn’t take long for Bruce to showcase his true nature. Something lurked in his eyes that alluded to more self-awareness than anyone would credit him with. Her intuition urged her not to ignore it, even if it meant being proved wrong about him. And never had she been so thankful to be wrong about anyone.

They’d ended up talking well into the night and left just before last calls were made. He agreed to be her investor within ten minutes of her relaying to him her idea, and not until he’d dropped her off at home and she passed through her front door that realization dawned on her.

B.W. Bruce Wayne.

Then, everything seemed to fall into place. She trusted in Bruce and that led to the acquisition of a team of coders more well-versed than herself. As they worked on developing her app, she – with Bruce’s assistance – reached out to Arkham State Hospital for licensed doctors. This process was a bit lengthier than she’d anticipated it being. Few initially were willing to be consultants without payment. And meeting Jonathan Crane for the first time…someone her intuition begged her to be extremely careful around…and yet someone who had managed to charm her pants off with his dry wit and intelligence…someone she was fascinated by because the word ‘sociopath’ had struck her clear as day while listening to him speak and interact with others…it’d been a time of relying heavily on that calm voice within to get her by unscarred.

Surrendering is what Agatha called it. Surrender she did.

As her abilities flourished and her mind and soul learned to work in tangency with one another, her visits to Agatha became infrequenter. She would pop by to visit of course, say hi to the cats and give Pangea her complimentary head and back scratches, catch up with Agatha now that they had acquainted themselves on a more personal level, even meditate with her which often seemed to supercharge her as Agatha’s energy was like a bolt of lightning. They kept up at least a monthly communication, but after the official launch of her app, life got to be so busy their correspondence sometimes was restrained to text messages alone.

She’d felt bad seeing so little of who she considered her mentor and confidant, but Agatha had assured her she was aware of the gratitude and fondness she carried for her.

_“Your life is moving forward rapidly, dear. As it was meant to. No matter how much it speeds up, don’t forget you’re in the driver’s seat. You still have control of the pedal and break. And I’ll be here when you need me.”_

The last time she’d visited Agatha was on New Year’s Eve of last year. She’d closed down her shop early and they took to drinking tea, eating an assortment of muffins, and welcoming the transition of the new year.

By this point Celine had mastered a meditative state in which she communicated wordlessly with her higher self, was beginning to experiment with lucid dreaming (her mom appeared in a lot of these dreams and they engaged in conversation as if she’d never departed in the first place), had fine-tuned her clairsentience, and with Agatha’s insistence on learning how to manipulate energy, attempted to harness a ball of light between her palms, the use of which wasn’t all that clear.

She was aware there was still untapped power within her…had felt pockets of it whenever she focused on manifesting the gold sphere of energy Agatha spoke of, which made her body feel like a receptor to all the universe’s energetic potency. But she just didn’t know what to do with it yet. What to focus on so the true nature of that power was channeled more easily. And what that power would allow her to do.

Now, on this unusually breezy night in July, Celine felt more lost than ever before.

She’d not meditated since Joker had kept her as a hostage. Anytime she tried, it felt like the first few times. Too many thoughts with nowhere to go. Her clairsentience worked only in select moments, leaving her blind to the nature of persons like Martha Graves. Her emotions weren’t observed but absorbed. The energies of others wasn’t able to be buffered away by the white light she’d learned to drape herself in whenever others emotions got to be too much for her. Her intuition was burdened by overthinking…it was becoming more difficult to distinguish the two. Simply put, she felt woefully misaligned with her mind and soul, and dreadfully unsure of herself.

She needed guidance. A push in the right direction. The self she’d been prior to encountering Joker…it was there. How to access that again…that was the conundrum.

Something brushed across her ankles, causing Celine to briefly jump in place.

Pangea gazed up at her, seemingly affronted she would have such a worrisome reaction to her.

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” she tried to coo, leaning down to scoop up the bushy cat. “I’ve missed you so much.”

The moment her index finger and thumb began to rub at the sides of her cheeks, all was forgiven. She purred emphatically in her arms, nestling herself closer.

Agatha watched on, a gentle smile in place.

“Where’s Ghost?” she asked, peering around.

“Sleeping off a busy day. Pangea was provoking him more than usual and they may have battled it out in between the aisles for a good portion of the afternoon.”

When Celine finally lowered Pangea, Agatha gestured to the back of the room.

“Let’s see how we can help you regain that which has been lost.”

She didn’t need to be told twice, following Agatha with a gut full of nerves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up going through all 20 previous chapters and doing some much needed editing. Mainly spelling errors, sentences or scenes that didn't sound right to me but I couldn't think of anything better at the time, and correcting information as I've contradicted myself numerous times, mainly because once I post a chapter I'm too afraid to go back and read it. So, hopefully this makes for a bit of a smoother read overall. 
> 
> Ghost the Snowshoe is entirely inspired by my own cat/reason to live. He's taught me unconditional love and I'm thrilled to give him a little shout out in this story. He has no idea how revered he is.


	22. Chapter 22

“Sit with me, Celine.”

She lowered herself to the soft, rectangular carpet that had been set out for her on the floor, Agatha taking the position across from her. The room was lit with eight pillar candles, seven of which were positioned strategically around to balance out the dark to light ratio. The last candle burned steadily in the space between them, bathing them both in a soft glow.

“Since returning to Gotham, I confess I’ve not known what has been happening in your life until I saw a photo of you earlier in the week from a newspaper stand down the street. I’ve sensed you have been under great strain.” She picked up the deck of tarot cards sitting by the candle and began shuffling them. “I believe I’m all caught up now. Correct me if I’ve missed anything. You were held hostage and rescued. A woman attempted to sue you for negligence in the death of her daughter. You won the appeal, but she did not think this sufficient justice. She took part in as many interviews as possible to condemn you. Her life also ended recently.”

“That about covers it.”

Her gaze lingered on her face.

“And the bruises and missing finger? I know it is connected to the manhunt Gotham underwent for the three now deceased City Council members and the kidnapping of the other members’ children. Though in what way isn’t as clear.”

Celine nodded, caressing her bandaged hand.

“Long story short I tried getting the kids back. Succeeded, though…at a cost.”

She lifted her hand as emphasis.

Agatha’s eyes closed. A frown briefly overcame her.

“I am sorry you had to experience such cruelty.” Her eyes popped open. She smiled gently. “And yet…the courage you mustered up to do what few were willing to…do not discredit that so easily. Even if less positive feelings weigh you down.”

She shook her head and exhaled.

“That’s all I’ve felt lately,” she admitted. “The burden of guilt and confusion. Being around Bruce…John…people that love me…before today anyway helped me maintain optimism. It’s when I’m alone…or when I’m-.” She wasn’t sure whether to bring up her encounters with Joker, still feeling sensitive about how much she enabled their relationship. “-when I’m around certain people…then everything becomes murky. Meditation hasn’t worked, reading people is a hit or miss…I feel a sharp disconnect between how I think and how I feel. And I don’t know how to reconnect the two. Or what was responsible for them misaligning so severely.”

Agatha nodded patiently. She had stopped shuffling her deck and instead was palming the top card.

“Have you dreamt of Nora lately?”

“No. But…she’s made it evident she’s around. You said once that the loved ones we lost can sometimes make their presence known through an animal. A few weeks ago, I was at an outdoor café with a friend and a butterfly landed on my cup. It trusted me enough to fly onto my finger. Instinctively I knew it was her doing. I haven’t lost her at least…that’s a silver lining in all this.”

“Indeed.” She hummed to herself, appearing thoughtful. “If it is any consolation, I still feel from you the same level of power I did New Year’s Eve. You have not lost anything in the slightest. But the energy surrounding yours …it is….” She tilted her head, searching for the right word. “Indistinguishable from your own…and yet…not entirely on par with the frequency you’ve learned to vibrate on. I am having a tricky time reading whose it is or how it’s possible for it to not only meld harmoniously with yours but also…apologies if I’m struggling to explain this…clash just as much as it melds.”

When Agatha’s brows furrowed in contemplation, Celine frowned. She’d never had the privilege of stumping her before.

_What does she mean it melds harmoniously? It feels the exact opposite._

“You know…I sensed you would need my help,” Agatha added. “And my intent tonight was to do an in depth reading out of my Suit of Cups deck. This deck is more equipped to aid in emotional, unconscious, and intuitive matters.” She glanced down at the cards in her hand. “Instead, I was almost urged to grab the deck I did your first reading with. And this card beneath my palm…it…radiates with intent. It has been…seeking to be flipped for quite some time. Let us see what’s attempting to be revealed to you.”

She flipped the card under her palm over, studying it first.

Celine waited with bated breath, chewing at her lower lip.

Amazement briefly invaded Agatha’s features. Not a second later and she began to laugh.

“Oh,” she said once the last of it ebbed away. “That explains it. A first in all the years I’ve done this. We won’t be needing any more cards.”

With that said, she lowered the card between them, next to the candle.

The Lovers. Upright.

Celine cocked her head.

“I don’t understand.”

Agatha was making a valiant effort not to smile ear to ear.

“Congratulations my dear,” she said. “It would appear that you’ve found your soulmate.”

Celine’s mouth dropped open.

“The hell I did.”

She was almost tempted to scoot away from the card. As if it posed a danger beyond resting there.

“There is no doubt about it,” Agatha assured. “This is most likely why you have felt so imbalanced and confused as of late. You…are struggling to be receptive to it.”

Shaking her head, she ran a hand through her hair.

_“Who?”_

It came out a little more demanding than she’d intended, but Agatha didn’t appear bothered by it, fully aware of the curveball she’d thrown her way.

“There isn’t a name that comes to me…” Her eyes fluttered shut. “Perhaps if I just…focus a little bit…more.”

Celine watched her, incredulity coursing through her veins. Did she even believe in soulmates? The concept of a soul, certainly, yes, but the idea that two individual souls were fated to be with each other? It had always seemed like a fanciful daydream to her. Something romance novels and films tried to sell you on to lessen the cynicism most had on love. For the past few years she’d even become convinced she was her own soulmate.

_It can’t be Bruce. She would have told me years back. John? I can see it…we’re bound to each other against all odds and deep down I know I will end up forgiving him because my love is that strong. Still…I’ve known him almost as long as I’ve known Bruce…surely, she would have said something. Which means it has to be someone I only recently acquainted myself with. And have a natural reverence for. There’s Aesop. I don’t yet love him, but I care deeply for his wellbeing. There’s Wesley. But he’s so…young. Mature beyond his years, but only just beginning to find himself and his place in the world. I see him more as a little brother than anything. _

Her mind was briefly propelled back to the classroom she’d taken her SAT’s in. A thick booklet of papers rested on her desk. One of the questions had an array of possible choices. She took to relying on the process of elimination.

  1. <strike> Bruce</strike>
  2. <strike> John</strike>
  3. <strike> Aesop</strike>
  4. <strike> Wesley</strike>
  5. J-

_No. No, no, no, no, no, no. La la la la la la I’m not listening I’m not listening I’m not-._

“I’m sorry,” Agatha voiced, opening her eyes. “I can’t see a name.”

Her shoulders sagged with relief.

“There is only a man…with a jagged smile.”

She had to fight down the urge to push to her feet and bolt out of the room.

_This isn’t happening. _

“You are troubled,” she observed. “Understandable, given the extremes of the pairing.”

An ear-piercing laugh shot out of her. It was absent of any humor.

“Joker,” she forced out. “Is. _Not_. My. Soulmate. He doesn’t even have a soul!”

“All living creatures have a soul,” she counteracted.

“Agatha.” She leaned toward the woman, meeting her eyes unblinkingly. “You know me. You, maybe better than anyone else, knows me. I have my flaws, absolutely. I don’t always make the right decisions and I’m prone to my moments of selfishness. Though I strive to constantly expand my worldview, I can’t deny that I like being right. However…at my core I am kind, I am compassionate, and I am loving. It-it makes absolutely _no_ sense that someone like him could be fated for me. You’re mistaken, I’m sorry.”

She maintained the woman’s gaze, unwilling to backtrack on these words.

Unfortunately, Agatha wasn’t so easily persuaded.

“My dear…I did not tell you this to upset or scare you. It is something to celebrate, truly. Soulmates aren’t uncommon, but it _is_ rare altogether for them to encounter each other. More often than not, they end up living in different time periods or one is born as the other dies. That you two have found your way to one another in the same moment in time is nothing short of a miracle. Is there any part of you willing to acknowledge how incredible that is?”

“No.”

“Why?”

She opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

“Why?” Agatha tried again, not letting up. “You are right, I know you better than most. And you have never been one to live in denial. Trepidatious, skeptical, unsure…yes. But you have always sought to live this existence as truthfully as possible, be it your own or the universe’s. This denial runs deeper than I can wrap my head around. Why do you so ardently reject what I know in every pore of myself to be true?”

Frustration was suffocating her lungs. She took a deep breath in and a deep breath out. Again, her emotions attempted to lead her by the scruff of her neck. She wouldn’t let them.

Agatha deserved a non-explosive answer. A true answer. And it wasn’t until working on her breathing, trying to re-center herself, that she realized how difficult that answer was to acknowledge.

“He’s the complete opposite of my ideal partner,” she began. “He doesn’t know what love is nor _how_ to love for that matter. He would kill me if it suited his plans. He would kill me out of boredom. He would kill be because he felt like it. What part of me finds that incredible? If he is my soulmate, then I feel like I’m being punished. I feel like I did something wrong.”

She held a breath in, trying to find the words to voice this next part.

“I…there is something that draws me to him. All of me to him. I have…betrayed my morals to keep him from being captured. I’ve responded to his flirtatiousness and even enjoyed it. There is something there…but it is not enough. Not with him. _Anyone_ but him.”

“I see.”

She didn’t say anything for a long while, one of her thumbs tapping against her thigh.

“I want to show you something,” she finally said, extending her palms. “It will require us to join hands. It is the only way I know how to make you see what I see.”

“Agatha,” she interjected, “how can you, in good consciousness, encourage this? He’ll take the chance to hurt me the moment I let down my guard. Do you really think so little of me?”

Her sigh was emitted from deep within her belly.

“Celine…_please_…I’m well-aware of who he is and the agony he has left in his wake. Just…let me show you…I need you to see this.”

Hesitantly she placed her hands into Agatha’s outstretched ones. An involuntary shiver raced through her. She’d forgotten just how powerful the woman sitting across from her was.

“Now, close your eyes and attempt to open your third eye. If you are rusty, rely on me to do so.”

Steadying her breaths, Celine closed her eyes and worked on clearing her mind. So much was happening up there that it took some time to make it all vanish. Agatha’s grip on her was gentle yet firm. She could feel the power coursing out of her and into her body like they were each grabbing the end of a heavily conductive wire.

The darkness beneath her lids gradually began to recede until she was standing barefoot in the backyard of her childhood home on a brightly-lit day. This was her safe place. Where she felt most balanced and refreshed. Where the version of her standing there was wholly connected to the soul.

Immediately, she could feel her body start to relax. Not long after Agatha materialized onto the green grass next to her, wearing a loose-fitting white summer dress.

“You’re here,” both Celine’s stated.

“I am,” both Agatha’s returned. “I am going to show you a star that underwent supernova roughly one billion years ago in the Crescent Nebula.”

The sky abruptly shifted from a fluffy-clouded cool blue to nearly all black. The only source of light was a massive, sweltering red star with a rapidly throbbing core. Thankfully, no planets or moons were in the vicinity – or they had been formally but were gobbled up by the expansion of the star’s outer gases.

Though she knew it took millions of years for death to fully occur…for the red giant she was glimpsing to return to either a white, cool dwarf star or a blackhole (size depending); the actual death transitioned before their eyes over the course of seconds. And the closer to death the star got, the more she could feel the erratic, carbon-based fusion churning from within. It made her body buzz like a ringing cell phone with the silence switched on.

“In seconds this star will explode and die. Portions of its energetic composition will be blasted into different regions of space. The only remnant of its long life.”

Celine gazed at the pulsating star. The shades of crimson nearly hurt to look at, but in the same token, she couldn’t tear her gaze away.

“It’s beautiful.”

Agatha smiled.

“Isn’t it?” She raised her arm and pointed at the very center. “A part of the energy comprising your soul is stored within this star. A part of what comprises the Joker’s soul is also stored in this star. Though you only recently met, your souls have known each other for eons. You were forged together…have worked in tandem for longer than can be conceived.”

She spoke without thinking.

“His name is Jack.”

Agatha turned to her.

“Would you prefer I call him that?”

It was a tricky question. Seeing as she planned to deliver him to the police tomorrow, humanizing him would only make what she had to do that much more complicated. But human is exactly what he was; something she struggled to remind herself of because so much of what he’d done was the polar opposite.

“Yes.”

She nodded.

“Jack it is.”

Their eyes returned to the star. The buzzing in her body continued to amplify until every hair was standing on end.

“How common is it for two souls to have the energetic makeup of the same star?”

Sensing it was being discussed, the star’s gases flared out even further into the dark. Death was on the horizon and it would expand as much as it was able until its dying breath.

“About as common as soulmates encountering each other at the right time.”

_Well…shit. That doesn’t make things any easier._

She watched on, transfixed as the star continued to balloon outward before finally…_finally_ exploding; its core utterly devoid of elements to fuse, unable to do anything but collapse in on itself.

Her eyes slammed shut. When they opened again, in the star’s place was a white-hot ball of matter, nearly a fraction of its original size. And hovering at its’ nearby edges were light blue and rose-colored swirls of the star’s original outer gas layers. In time they too would fade, but for the current moment they would linger as a tribute to the recently deceased.

Celine blinked and with each blink the sky began to return to a cerulean blue with a handful of fluffy clouds scattered about.

“The point of showing that to you,” Agatha explained, “is to make you see this isn’t an attempt at a cruel joke. Your souls have spent eternities creating light in the darkest corners of the universe. Though neither of you may be able to explain why your union felt so natural, this is the reason.”

Celine shook her head. Though she had witnessed the supernova, doubt continued to gnaw at her.

“I can see you are still on the fence,” she noted. “Tell me…when you shut your brain off and look to the voice within…what does it tell you?”

She nearly whispered her answer. The admission was too troubling to be heard by anyone else’s ears but their own.

“To…give in.”

It was a truth she’d been dodging for quite some time. She refused to listen from within because in her mind it all but guaranteed a bad outcome for her. Perhaps this is where the misalignment had begun. Denial bred mistrust, mistrust confusion, confusion chaos.

“He’s so dangerous,” she followed up. “I can’t fathom him being capable of expressing love of any kind.”

“I understand.”

They were silent for a moment.

“Would you happen to have any possessions of his on you?” Agatha inquired. “His energy interwoven with yours…it is but a sample of him. I should like to know him better.”

One hand traveled down to her waist. It’d been a last-minute decision to bring Sally with her. She didn’t think she would face any unexpected obstacles on her journey here but having it at her waist… equipped with the knowledge that Joker had willingly given her his own knife’s companion…served as an unexpected source of calm.

She extended the closed blade to Agatha.

The woman accepted it, flipping it over in her hands, palms pressing tightly on either side of it.

“My oh my,” she murmured, “he’s like a livewire. It better explains why you feel so off kilter. He’s not accessed this part of himself since he was a young, young boy.”

She closed her eyes and focused, her own breathing slowing to a near imperceptible speed.

“Got you,” she declared with a grin. “Let us take a peek…your hands again, Celine. Right one atop the blade, left one in mine.”

She did as she was told, biting her lower lip. A part of her was urging she get up and leave right this second. Soulmates be damned, she was willing to go it alone for the remainder her life.

But she refused to give in. Both John and Agatha had claimed she was allowing denial to do the thinking for her. Denial was the nemesis of truth. Though it terrified her to take the leap, it would be a disservice to herself not to at least take a peek at the whole picture. That…picture…being…her…_soulmate_…

_Will I ever be able to say that without cringing?_

The moment she closed her eyes everything blurred into a depthless white. This time around neither of their physical bodies materialized. Rather, she was observing with her third eye a plane where time and structure didn’t exist. Agatha’s hands tightened on hers every so slightly. And with it something black began to emerge. It was no larger than a basketball, spherical in shape with the outside lines looking like they’d been drawn by a child.

The black substance almost resembled tar. And the depth of its thickness had her deeply uneasy. 

“What am I looking at?” she asked.

“This,” Agatha stated, “is what Jack’s soul looked like prior to him meeting you.”

She couldn’t hold back her gasp.

“What?! How is that possible? I’ve seen mine before…it glows gold and white. Most peoples do I thought.”

“This is the culmination of years of self-loathing…of an inability to process traumatic events that so strongly shaped him. This is the state of a soul that has willfully and intentionally closed itself off from its higher self…the self whose very nature is to love unconditionally. This is also the state of a soul that seeks out negative vibrations…anger, apathy, violence, malice…I’m afraid these emotions have become so commonplace that he struggles to experience the world any other way.”

Something akin to empathy stirred within her. It was shortsighted on her part to assume he’d simply been born this way. Of course he had suffered, as all children do at some point. Be it the abrupt loss of innocence, the helpless realization of how much hatred runs rampant in this world, or the first time death becomes a fully realized concept.

Similarly, Jack wasn’t a dumb person. His intellectualism proved itself again and again, from his impressive knowledge of a wide range of subjects to the meticulousness with which he planned to the strategy with which those plans unfolded. It was her personal belief that children with a sharpness beyond their years tended to suffer more sensitively to their environment. As it was turning out, he was no exception.

“I guess…I thought he was invincible to trauma,” she offered. “He acts so self-assured…like nothing could ever pierce the armor he wears.”

“No one builds armor without a reason,” Agatha promised. “It is always in response to having been pierced. Around age seven is when he began to construct his.”

She didn’t know what to do with this knowledge. She was pretty sure attempting to ask Jack about it would earn her a knife through the jugular.

“Now I will show you what his soul looks like since having met you.”

At first, Celine was convinced nothing had changed. The same heavy tar covered his soul like a second skin.

And then she saw it. A ripple shot out from within, causing the black in its path to fluctuate slightly.

“Kindred. His higher consciousness recognizes you. And it no longer is content to stay submerged beneath the darkness. Jack’s mind and body has sensed this…and as of late, it has become a source of immense frustration for him. You think you are fighting with yourself? He is just as much at war, _deeply_ conflicted on who he wants to win.”

She thought at the time it’d just been an off the cuff remark.

_“You are trouble with a capital **T**. Testing me. Yes, yes…testing me. I’ve not known peace since meeting you.”_

“He does an incredible job of hiding it,” she said, not realizing until now just how serious he’d been.

“Yes, his version of self-preservation. He’s sacrificed much to become the person he is today. It uneases him to know his old self is not entirely expunged.”

“Why doesn’t he bury him back down? He’s certainly not lacking the resilience to do so.”

Celine felt Agatha hesitate through their joined hands.

“Because the only way to do so would be to…kill you.”

She flinched.

“All the more reason to steer clear,” she replied after a few seconds. “I’d be stupid to pursue anything for someone that viewed me as a liability. Killing me would make his life easier…I’d never not be aware of that. It wouldn’t be a matter of _if_, but _when_.”

Agatha tilted her head.

“I will not sugar coat it…he has considered killing you each time you have come across each other. Such is the instinct of a man like the Joker. Snuff out all perceived weaknesses and your strength will return tenfold. Though weak is not a word he would use to describe you, his acknowledged attachment to you…his fondness for you…within himself he deems this to be weak. He would not kill you because it gave him pleasure, but because he considers it a necessary evil. So he can return to what he knows well…what doesn’t require any serious risk.”

“Thanks Ag, that made me feel _so_ much better.”

She was rewarded with a chuckle.

“You underestimate the voracity in which he fights this instinct,” she amended. “Celine…he does not _want_ you dead. His soul has known you for millennias; his mind admires yours, his body…let us just say you spend a very healthy amount of time in his fantasies during his more…personal time. It is _crucial_ to note that you appeal to all three levels of him…and they are working in synch with each other to convince the instincts that drive Joker not to end you. The more times you come away unscathed, the less desire he has to go through with it.”

She was tempted to refute this, but then thought back to the last time he’d pulled a knife on her. Her apartment, just after he’d escaped his cuffs. He’d made the choice not to kill her and instead gifted her the weapon he’d nearly used on her (perhaps to avoid the temptation of using it…also, was that his version of romance?).

Anytime after that, the worst he’d done was use brute force. And more often that not it was to further along a potentially…salacious encounter.

“I guess I should applaud Jack for how far he’s come?” She clapped her hands with no shortage of sarcasm. “It’s like a heavyweight match between someone who’s been in the ring for decades, fighting bare-knuckled, bearing-teeth, undefeated…against a seven-year-old trying on boxing gloves for the first time. You do remember how Ivan Drago vs Apollo Creed turned out, right?”

_Then again…I always thought Apollo got kind of cocky. Plus, Dolph Lundgren was a stud and a half back in the day……aaaand I’m only making this worse for myself. _

Agatha chose her statement carefully.

“Joker is Jack, but Jack is not Joker.”

She repeated this to herself but failed to feel comforted by it.

“Think, dear. Have there been times you’ve noticed the shift between the two?”

_Yes_ rested on her tongue. Divulging his real name when she had asked. The intimacy that’d ensued. Emptying out her fifth after coercing her to open it. Offering to keep her guarded during the City Council manhunt. Dismembering Gil for harming her. Cutting off his dick for threatening to rape her. Holding her on the bus. Holding _and_ comforting her after Martha’s interviews. Doing away with Martha to make her life easier.

Not until these instances hit her all at once did she realize Jack maybe have been trying to say hi to her, but he only seemed to know how via Joker’s attributes.

“I have,” she slowly agreed. “But…there’s still so much…uncertainty. His soul was black, Ag. That’s what he puts out and attracts…has on a daily basis for who knows how long.”

“Do you not believe in your own power?”

Her eyes snapped open.

“What do you mean?”

Agatha’s remained shut.

“Your light…you use it to shine it on the darkest corners of a person. Your variety of friends attests to how successful you are. What makes you think you cannot reach someone like Jack? Especially when you’ve already witnessed firsthand the alterations that have occurred because of you?”

She was, for seemingly the hundredth time, at a loss for words. Agatha was making it all sound so easy. It wasn’t…was it?

“You’ve not met Jack fully,” Agatha continued. “Thus, it is nearly impossible to imagine what the man buried within is like. Let me show you how he could have ended up had things gone differently earlier in his life.”

_I don’t want to see this…yes I do…no I don’t…yes…no…fuck._

Placing her hands into Agatha’s, Celine closed her eyes again.

This time they had an omniscient view into a cozy bungalow style home. To her astonishment an alternate version of her was standing in the kitchen, humming softly to herself while toweling off a few drying plates in the sink. A record player from the living room was playing “Harvest Moon” by Neil Young. This wasn’t a stretch by any means, that was one of her favorite love songs.

She didn’t notice Jack right away. He was reclined on his back by her legs, half of him stuffed underneath the cupboards beneath the sink. A toolkit was propped open beside him.

“Try it now.”

She set her towel down and tried turning on the cold water. Water instantly began to spew every which direction beneath the sink, effectively soaking the man beneath it.

“Argh!” he exclaimed.

She hastily flipped the water off and peddled backwards, hands flying to her mouth. Giggles were muffled against her palms.

“Something amusing you there?”

He finally pulled himself out from beneath the sink, causing the real Celine’s mouth to pop open.

Oh, he was handsome. Very, very handsome.

The Jack in front of her firstly lacked his trademark scars. Not that she ever found them ugly to begin with, they spoke of a deeply personal experience; most likely painful on a level beyond physical. She had her own fair share covered up and couldn’t help but admire the lack of restraint with which he showcased his. Unrepentant, uncaring; owning up to them rather than attempting to mask them.

That being said, seeing his unmutilated cheeks for the first time, speckled with the lightest hint of a five o clock shadow really brought to light what sort of man all that clown make-up had hidden away.

His eyes were the next point of interest. Their darkness and intensity had always drawn her to him, but never not carried in them some form of hostility or mania. This Jack’s expression was much softer, and the amusement twinkling in his eyes lacked any malice or contempt. It de-aged him significantly. He looked like a young boy in a grown man’s body.

She then noticed his shoulder-length dark blonde hair lacking any green and the laugh lines indented at the corners of his eyes and the adorable dimples that were struggling to smooth themselves down, and the fullness of his pink lips. Her fingers were _itching_ to trace them.

What had the Celine in the kitchen struggling to hold back her laughter was the water that’d dampened his hair, sprayed his face, trickled down his chin, and left a wet spot at the center of his gray t-shirt. 

“I think it’s time to throw in the towel,” she told him, hands dropping to rest beneath her armpits. “There’s no shame in calling a plumber, Jack. You gave it your all. Unless you like looking and smelling like a wet dog. Then, by all means, continue what you were doing.”

His eyes narrowed, but there wasn’t any loathing in them. He licked at his bottom lip, eyeing her coyly.

“You ah…you think this is funny?”

She tried her best to remain serious.

“Not at all. The _opposite_ of hilarious. Totally _not_ amusing.”

Slowly, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. His expression was growing downright devious. Celine began to back away from him.

“Where ya going gum drop?” he groused, his movements panther-like.

“Figure I’ll give you some time to-.”

Before she could finish her sentence, Jack had shot up to his feet and made to reach for her, arms attempting to grab her around the waist. She just narrowly escaped his clutches, booking it in the direction of the living room with a startled shriek. Jack was hot on her heels and before she could pass the entryway to the living room, both of his arms managed to snake around her midsection and tug her backwards into him.

“Argh Jack!” she squealed as he picked her up and dragged her backwards into the kitchen. “I give up, I plead the fifth, consider this my surrender!”

Jack’s shoulders shook from a chest-rumbling laugh. He tightened his hold on her, tilting her chin back so it rested on his sternum. His wet cheek pressed into hers. He emitted a throaty growl into her ear.

“Far too late to surrender, sweetness,” he announced. “Serves you right for making fun of me. The question is…how to punish you for it.”

“I’ll be good I promise,” she begged, twisting in his hold.

“Oh, I know you will be,” he mumbled back, a hand skimming up her body and cupping one of her breasts. “Seeing as you’re addicted to little Jack here-.” He ground his crotch into her ass, causing her to stifle a moan, “maybe I oughta withhold him from you for the time being. Separation makes the heart grow fonder after all.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she challenged, attempting to peek up at him.

“Oh, I very much do dare,” he argued back, eyes flicking down to her parted lips.

“Fine,” she conceded. “But that means I’ll be taking a trip to the nearest sex shop for a replacement. And believe you me Jack…with how creative and powerful modern-day vibrators are, you’ll be very easy to replace. Heck, maybe I’ll marry it instead of you.”

This sent a shock to the actual Celine’s system. It’s not until this comment was made that she noticed the emerald-encrusted ring shining on her ring finger.

“He proposed?” she couldn’t help but ask Agatha.

“Within a month of meeting you,” she answered with a smile in her voice. “There was never any doubt in his mind you two were made for one another. Though Joker would give you the impression he’s a confident man, this…this is what true confidence is. Acting on love despite the fear of getting hurt.”

This resonated deeper than she cared to examine.

“Mmm…you strike a very dangerous bargain,” he said, nipping at her ear lobe. “Perhaps we can come to some sort of…arrangement. You don’t visit any sex shops and I won’t burn any down.”

Rather than be appalled, the Celine in Jack’s arms started laughing.

“You’re still not guaranteeing me the use of little Jack there.” She pushed her backside into his hardened cock. “Try again.”

He grumbled to himself.

“I thought I was the one negotiating here.”

“_Think_ again.”

Before she could banter any further, he grasped the side of her face and tilted it toward him. Though his eyes were hoody and animated, a lazy smile continued to rest on his lips.

“Guess I’ll need to prove to you there is _no_ suitable replacement for me.”

He pressed his lips against hers. She leaned fully into him, one hand sliding up and cupping the back of his neck, drawing him closer to her.

Celine watched them continuing to kiss, their breaths becoming ragged the longer they refused to detangle their mouths.

It wasn’t until the image began to disappear that she realized there was prickling in her eyes. She released a shaky breath and removed her hands from Agatha’s.

It took some effort composing herself. Her heart ached at what she’d witnessed. That…that was a Jack she could love. That was a Jack worth sacrificing her own reservations for. He’d been so youthful. Still holding a touch of that macabre humor, but with no real threat behind it.

_But…that isn’t a Jack that exists anymore. There is no returning to that. I may get glimpses of him from Joker, but that domestic sorta happily ever after isn’t in my future with him._

This was sharply countered with:

_What is a happily ever after anyway anymore? The American Dream? The one you have to be asleep to believe in? Who I am now…who Jack is now…we would never fit that white picket fence fantasy society promotes. I don’t want that, I know he doesn’t. Does that mean there isn’t any hope for some sort of good outcome for us? Or am I not seeing all the options because I’m maintaining such a careful distance? Because I’m so convinced I know how this will turn out and maybe fear…being wrong._

On a more positive note, being in love looked good on her. Jack wasn’t the only one’s face she’d been studying. She’d had crushes…a high school buddy she’d have married in a heartbeat if he’d asked…but that’d been at a juvenile age when she didn’t know better. A crush wasn’t nearly as powerful as the elation and serenity she’d witnessed on her face in that kitchen.

“I know you carry reservations, mainly toward his Joker persona…and…it is not an entirely separate identity like that of your friend John and the voice that is Scarecrow living within him. Joker is…a conditioned way of being,” Agatha relayed. “It is who he taught himself to be out of necessity. And because so much of what he’s done has been successful or proven his point, this persona isn’t one he is willing to abandon so easily. Having gone so long in this conditioned state, it is inevitable finding his way out will be a struggle. But…he can at least attempt a balance between who he was and who he is. And watching you live life the way you do…unapologetically genuine, present and loving…it stirs in him a desire to find that balance too. For if he finds it, it brings him one step closer to you.”

She shook her head, heart thumping heavily in her chest.

“I…I’m planning on turning him over to the police tomorrow.”

Agatha finally opened her eyes.

“If that is what you feel needs to be done, so be it,” she answered. “I only wanted you to be aware of the depths capable in the man you claim cannot love. It’s wise of you to not be blinded by the feelings he brings out in you. But those feelings…they are there for a reason.…it is a matter of choosing what is in your heart and what is in your head. Neither choice will be easy.”

She contemplated this. Could she really go through with betraying Jack after everything she’d learned about him? Agatha claimed she was making progress. Would turning him in forever destroy that progress? Was it even her responsibility to help him? He appeared quite content being Gotham’s judge, jury, and executioner.

“If I…if I choose to take a chance on him,” she tested out, “what’s to prevent me from failing? What if I misjudge the depth of his feelings…let down my guard and let him in, only for him to massacre everything that’s good about me?”

“You give him far too much credit,” she deflected. “A killer he may be, but he is still a man capable of hurting and bleeding. And you are not powerless. You will do as you’ve always done…fight and endure.”

Hearing this eased her somewhat. The worry of meeting her end at his hands had been a prominent one. So prominent it made her forget she was capable of defending herself…as she’d done so already in their first knife spar. Whether she’d win that skirmish, she couldn’t say, but Agatha was right, she wasn’t powerless.

“This is insane,” she mumbled out, massaging her temples. “The Clown Prince of Crime…Gotham’s ever faithful terrorizer…one of my best friend’s enemies…is…my…soulmate.”

The moment she finally acknowledged it aloud, it felt as if a weight had disappeared from atop her chest. Jack…Joker…was her soulmate. He was her _soulmate_. They were destined for one another. A star died so they could be reunited one day.

She started laughing and didn’t stop until she was gasping for oxygen.

Agatha watched on without judgment.

“I-I strangely…strangely feel better,” she admitted, palming her red cheeks “Not any less confused, but better. He’s just as rattled by this as I am…just…hiding it better. I…what’s your takeaway from this, Ag? I’m…at a complete loss on how to go on from here.”

“Well, your star signs-.”

“Ugh.”

Celine smacked her forehead.

Agatha bit back a chuckle.

“Yes, yes,” she followed up, “I know how you feel about star signs…I’ve never been able to convince you on their authenticity, have I?”

“Nope.”

And that was the truth. She’d tried reading her daily horoscope for a month but quit not soon after. In her opinion, it was the same advice, just recycled.

“Well, your star signs are as compatible as can be,” she admitted. “He is an Aries while you sit on the cusp of Cancer and Leo. You both share the element of fire. Tenacity. Passion. Playfulness. Pride. His Aries’ traits do make him a little more hard-headed than you…a little less willing to open up about their wounds. And this sign tends to have more…_prominent_ sexual urges.”

_And here I just assumed he’d not been laid in a long time. Go figure he’d also fall under the horniest sign in the Zodiac. Yipee!_

“You carry within you the element of water as well…the Cancer side of you. Empathetic. Emotionally intelligent. Sensitive. Reserved. To an Aries, these attributes…combined with those of your fire ones…cause him to feel naturally…protective of you. You…compel him most strongly.”

_Perfect. Next time he threatens me I’ll just tell him “Hey I’m compelling as fuck to you, you dumb grizzly bear.” Yep…that will go over very well._

“This brings me to mention something that is worth keeping in mind,” Agatha added. “Jack has never had anyone to call his own. Having been deprived of love most his life, you are the only person who has ever brought out such intense feelings in him. Thus, it is unavoidable that he should begin to feel or already feels quite…possessive of you. He’s well aware there are more suitable choices in partners for you. However, it is not in Joker’s nature – who has never allowed obstacles to inhibit him from reaching his goal - to step aside and let the better man have you. So…exercise caution. His possessiveness comes from a mix of instinct and fear someone will try to take what he deems his…and that you will be receptive to it. He is not as uncompromisable as he portrays himself to be. His pride _is_ capable of being wounded.”

“Duly noted.”

_I guess considering me his wasn’t delusion on his part. He’d said it was instinct that dictated it…he’d actually been right. He just didn’t realize how much. _

“You are compatible in every way there is to be compatible,” Agatha continued. “And yet…trauma and years of conditioning will no doubt complicate your union. He will seek to push you away just as much as he wishes you nearer. I once told you it is on you to decide whom to focus your energy on…that there are those who wish a reprieve from their pain and those who relish living in it. Jack…he can swing either way. And that makes offering advice to you all the more complex. We have examined him currently, but circumstances could change his thoughts and feelings on a whim. I-...I truly don’t know how to make this choice easier on you.”

Celine nodded. At least she was being honest. No matter if he matched her feelings, he was still a risk. A very unpredictable one. It seemed like what it was all boiling down to was…was he worth it? Was she wandering toward someone she should be retreating from? And no one could answer that for her but herself.

“All I can say is…rely on what speaks to you from within,” she cautioned. “You said you’ve been burdened by overthinking. Your soul knows this. It knows the threat Jack poses, especially to you. And it will not lead you blindly into danger. Now that all of this is out in the open…now that you have stopped denying your feelings…it will attempt its best to be in synchronicity with the rest of you. This, I feel, is what began the misalignment process. You are of course more than welcome to listen to logic…his track record speaks for itself…and your apprehension of whether he’ll ever deviate from it, is entirely justifiable. But your soul…it cannot be denied…it wants to be with his. That is the downfall of such an extreme pairing. Should you both ignore what is naturally at work between you, your souls will only long for each other more. I don’t know if that is any consolation to you…but…you have made it this far, have you not? Channeling into the voice within…spreading mercy as much as you are able …perhaps it is years of being a kooky, aging woman…but surely the universe would not lead someone astray should they choose to pursue love. Especially one that is as rare as yours. I suppose…that is a belief I will choose to take on. I won’t ask you to. Because I may very well be wrong and you may end up…killed as a result. And…well, Celine…the world will be a little bit less bright without you in it.”

She was touched by this statement, offering Agatha her left hand. The woman accepted it, gripping it securely.

“Thank you, Agatha. You’ve yet to lead me down the wrong path…and I think I know…you can’t guide me any further…no matter how much I want you to. I…I’m so grateful. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

She smiled at this, eyes matching her gratitude.

“Trust your truth,” she offered. “Lead with love, for that is your superpower. Be cautious, but compassionate. You are not your situation; you are your response to it. Don’t fear failing. So long as you love, you cannot fail. So long as you try, you cannot fail.”

Yet again, it felt as if pressure was being removed from her chest. She’d known this truth all along…encountering Jack just made her shove it down.

“Truthfully,” she said after a minute, “when I turned thirty, I sort of…acknowledged to myself that I might be alone for the rest of my life. And it wasn’t painful acknowledging this…I’m…not everyone’s cup of tea. Plus…I fear…wasting my time on the wrong person. When you realize how short this existence really is…how vulnerable the human body is…it forces you to reprioritize what really matters. And romancing and being romanced…that just wasn’t all that high up on my agenda. I…am…oddly comforted to learn we’re connected on such a universal level. But…taking that leap…making that commitment…it’s just as unnerving for me as it is for him.”

“You are wholly deserving of love, my dear. And it is okay if you are hesitant on acting on that love…commitment of this type is rarely made easy. But…you will never know the happiness in store for you if you do not jump. After all, surrendering is a necessity to this existence, is it not?”

“It is,” she agreed, comforted by these words. “And having learned all this, I can’t afford to lose myself like that again. I need to begin meditating on the regular.”

“Shall we then?” Agatha asked, extending her palms out again. “For old time’s sake.”

“Yes please.”

They grasped each other’s hands; a content sigh escaped Celine. Over a month ago, Hurricane Jack had struck her little island, depositing chaos, uncertainty, and a thick, heady fog in his wake. 

Tonight, the clouds were finally parting, the rain lessening to a drizzle, and the sun attempting to peek out at her. She all but welcomed its warmth on her face again.

***

She ended up lingering outside of Agatha’s storefront long after the woman had departed for the evening, content to pace back and forth. It was just shy of ten o’clock at night and her thoughts were hitting her all at once. There wasn’t any franticness or urgency to them…she observed them as they passed, making note of what was helpful and what wasn’t.

The first conclusion she’d reached was that she could not in good faith turn Jack in. Not after intimately glimpsing who the man beneath the makeup was. Earlier in the day she’d felt wrong about it. Now, that feeling had multiplied beyond counteraction.

Similarly, she had a strong hunch she was one of the few people to have developed some form of trust with him. With how far they’d come since their first encounter…dishonoring that trust would ultimately be more detrimental than helpful. This didn’t mean she didn’t want him caught…his capture would ease her mind considerably…relieve her from the burden of choice. Though she and Agatha spoke at great length about taking that leap, she still wasn’t fully convinced to do so. There was too much to lose, seemingly little to gain if he was as in much denial as she guessed, and she wasn’t quite ready to put herself into such an incalculable situation.

The second conclusion she’d reached was that she needed a break from Gotham. _Now_. Initially the trip to Maine was supposed to start Sunday, but in light of today’s events – the deterioration of her and Bruce’s friendship, learning of Martha’s suicide and all those involved as well as the media storm underway, discovering who Joker was to her - she decided it couldn’t be put off any longer.

First thing tomorrow she would start packing and then set off. Take no electronics other than her cell phone, which would stay permanently on silent. Nature had always held the ability to ground and recenter her…she wasn’t going to drive nearly seven hours just to play on her laptop and scroll mindlessly on her phone when Maine in full bloom was outside her doorstep. Plus, she missed her old friends and aunts and uncles like crazy. Perhaps once she returned, she would have a better idea of how to navigate her relationship with Jack. Or maybe she’d stay in Maine indefinitely. The latter was _certainly_ tempting.

She couldn’t deny feeling a little disappointed upon not seeing any messages or call alerts from Bruce. It was appearing that their friendship had finally reached its point of implosion. It ached no doubt…but she also couldn’t blame him, especially after this evening. If the roles were reversed, she too would struggle to remain friends with someone behaving so recklessly. She hoped he just needed time to cool off…but she wasn’t going to hold her breath.

She did shoot a message to John. Just to clear the air.

** _I understand why you did what you did…thank you for thinking of me, I’m not ungrateful. However…if you ever go against my wishes again, consider this friendship done. _ **

His response was immediate.

** _Understood._ **

She then shot a text to her Uncle Lucien, informing him she’d be returning to the house sometime tomorrow afternoon, and asking him if he’d be willing to turn on the water, gas, and electric for her arrival. She didn’t hear back from him, but he had a habit of hitting the hay pretty early. He’d adhere to her request as soon as he saw it in the morning.

Another text was sent to an old childhood friend named Lisa. A bulk of the people she’d been friends with growing up still resided in Calgary Cliff. Their little group always tried to meet up a couple of times when she returned home, to catch up and partake in some shenanigans. It was a welcome distraction that she always looked forward to, this time being no different.

Rather than text Stephanie, she ended up calling her to confirm that her package could be picked up a day early. The woman sounded as if she was chewing on something.

“Yah, tha’s cool. Been meanin’ to ask ya bout som’thin. Hit me up on yah way over.”

When all the messages had been successfully sent, she set off in the direction of north Gotham. There was still one thing she needed to do.

From the moment she started walking, the feeling of being watched hit. She suspected there had been eyes on her the second she walked out of Agatha’s shop, but had elected to focus on what was going on in her brain rather than her surroundings. After all, it didn’t take too much guesswork to determine who it was. And she didn’t think he’d choose tonight to end her life. It was strange how certain she was of it being Jack. But she knew him…knew the heaviness of his stare, the curiosity present in his gaze when he was trying to figure her out…he might as well have been shouting through a megaphone rather than silently creeping after her.

She should have been uneasy but meditating with Agatha had freed her of any worry or self-doubt. The situation was what it was. Her soulmate was stalking her at ten-fifteen on a Friday evening. Poor grizzly bear had nothing better to do. She’d have laughed but didn’t want to tip him off that she knew he was there. 

It took about thirty minutes to reach her destination. It’d been a brief scan, but at the funeral home she recalled catching the name of the cemetery Elle would be buried in. She believed she had the right place.

After scaling the sealed entrance, she got to work perusing the various headstones. It took roughly five minutes before she found the area home to the more recently departed.

**Elle Cristina Graves**   
**1991-2011**   
**“In Times of Trouble May God’s Grace Find You”**

She knelt down onto the fresh soil, her bandaged hand brushing off some debris that’d gotten onto the headstone from the earlier wind.

Save the wind, all around her was silence. Not even the faintest trace of a grumbling car or the voices of excited night-goers out and about.

Celine closed her eyes and bowed her head.

“Rest in peace, sweetheart. If you should come around on this planet again in another form, may your existence be easier than this one was.”

She felt something brush her right ear. The wind momentarily died down. Eyes were still on her, but so was the unseen presence of the girl she was mourning. Sadness that wasn’t her own coursed through her.

“Release. Release and go forth to something better.”

Just like that, the wind picked up, and that sadness evaporated. She could feel tears threatening to fall, but that’s all they did…threaten.

At some point, a noise sounded throughout the graveyard. It was enough to pull her attention away from her private ceremony.

Sighing, she grabbed her phone and sent a text.

** _Cough a little louder next time. _ **

He’d not had the foresight to mute his text alerts. She could hear his phone ding from a few yards behind her. Followed by a muffled chuckle.

His response was near instantaneous.

** _Must say…you look good on your knees._ **

Stifling a groan, she rolled her eyes. Sensing he was somewhere diagonally behind her, she raised her right hand and stuck up her middle finger.

He was less careful at hiding his chuckles this time around.

Neither made the effort to continue texting. It seemed to be enough for him to know she was aware of his presence. She was just thankful he kept to the shadows. A face to face interaction was the last thing she wanted. Time and silence were needed to figure out how to go about with all the information she’d acquired.

When her knees started to cramp up, she pushed up and stood, brushing the dirt off her jeans. Risking a glance around, she found no sign of Jack. She knew he was still there…just not _where_.

A sudden burst of ambition struck her. Why on Earth was she making it so easy for him to stalk her? Why not make him sweat? Make him wish he’d not chosen a more convenient girl to become obsessed with?

With that in mind, she darted toward the nearest gate entrance. She didn’t think, only acted. Like a spider monkey on Adderall, she clawed her way up the chain link fence and hopped on down to the other side with an _oof_. Footsteps were nearing her quickly, the individual startled by the sudden hustle, but entirely willing to give chase.

_Let him. _

She booked it across the street, through an alley, veered through a pharmaceutical companies’ parking lot, and then hooked a left so she was back to the street she was originally on to get to the cemetery. Her pace slowed until she was walking once more.

_There. Let’s see how well he really knows me. _

She was nearing a bus stop and upon arriving, sat down on the bench to catch her breath. Her only companion was a small Asian woman furiously knitting what looked to be a baby blanket.

“I like the colors a lot,” she told her by way of conversation.

The woman peeked at her, brows furrowing. When she responded, it was all in Korean. Sadly, Celine didn’t understand a lick of it.

“Um…your blanket,” she tried again, pointing at the blue and gold material. “I like it.” She brought her hands together and formed a heart.

Instantly, the woman smiled. Her only response this time was a proud nod before returning to her work.

The bus arrived not even two minutes later. She and the woman each took the back seat on opposite ends. Up ahead some drunk looking businessmen were dozing off in a variety of uncomfortable positions.

It was when the bus hit the first stop sign that Celine looked out the window. A grin overcame her. Jack had just jogged up to the intersection, eyes perusing each direction. He was outfitted in black dress pants and a hoodie overtop his dress shirt, vest, and tie. His green strands were glued by sweat to his face and his chest rose and fell as if he’d only just managed to gather his breath.

Even through a bus window, he must have detected being observed.

The moment his gaze locked onto her, she smiled crookedly before blowing him a kiss. His jaw going slack was _heavenly_ to witness.

Not a second later and the bus sped up, leaving him to stare after the retreating vehicle, and the beaming woman inside it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For someone who doesn't believe in soulmates, I sure do find that subject a reoccurring theme in my works. Maybe it's just my optimism battling out my pessimism? 
> 
> I'm so excited to write the next few chapters as I've hit a part of my outline where I know a lot of what will happen rather than just typing mindlessly until I get from point A to point B. Shit's gonna get so good...I can feel it.  
That being said, I'll be road tripping for a week at the end of May and into June. Hitting up the more sparsely populated areas (i.e. keeping away from people) all around my beautiful state of Michigan...primarily to do some deep-woods hiking and rural exploration of abandoned houses, farms, schoolhouses, cemeteries, churches and what have you.  
So, the next few chapters might not come out until maybe early to mid-June? I want to get it out as accurately as I've got it in my head and not rush anything. 
> 
> I hope all of you are still doing well and are in good health. Your guys's comments and kudos have been the fuel to my fire...to all the times I just wanted to throw my laptop out my window cos I'm so sick of going through the same chapter over and over to edit and edit and edit and edit and ed-.  
Thank you so so much and please take care : )


	23. Chapter 23

Celine’s alarm stirred her from slumber just a little shy of eight o’clock the next morning. She’d been enthralled with a series of vibrant dreams that had bled into each other like colors on a used palette. One dream consisted of a hotel manager she was attempting to evade, who had been convinced she was gathering an army of balloon animals to overthrow the government with. She’d had a lot of fun weaving through the hotel rooms, up and down the stairs; ordering her second in command, Sergeant Bumblebee, to hold the manager off while she hastily blew and handmade more reinforcements in the shape of elephants, giraffes, and eagles.

Another dream consisted of a wedding that took place on the shores of a lighthouse she’d once seen before but couldn’t recall the location of. Everything was going swimmingly until it came time to say the I do’s. The groom’s family were suddenly garbed in black ceremonial robes (maybe they’d been all along?) and they began to unanimously chant something that wasn’t in a human language. Then the priest joined in and without warning the sky tore open, revealing the legendary cosmic entity Cthulhu. Cue mass panic ensuing as the wedding band faithfully played a rendition of Richie Valens’ “La Bamba”. Fear and hysteria aside, it was all quite comical to witness.

The final dream she recalled was the one that stood out the most. There was a hot air balloon coasting over a natural spring so clear you could glimpse the countless mermaids weaving throughout the water. She was in the hot air balloon with her mom, and they were chatting with one another as if no time at all had passed. It was the first time in quite a few months she’d been blessed with her presence, and she wasn’t about to take it for granted.

Their entire conversation was muddled to her now, but she remembered discussing Agatha’s tarot reading with her and her feelings regarding Joker being her soulmate. Amazingly, she was optimistic of the unorthodox pairing, which prompted a passionate dialogue between the two.

_“The Jack she showed me in that kitchen is impossible to resurrect,” she’d insisted. “I see my future with him ending one of two ways…visiting him in Arkham for the rest of eternity or…him standing over my grave, laughing.”_

Her mom counteracted this fear with a suggestion.

_“Ask him to do something for you. Inherently, love is not a selfish emotion. If he does what you ask for no one’s benefit but your own…there may still be hope.”_

At some point a black unicorn had crashed their little get-together, miraculously able to gallop across the water without sinking. Atop the unicorn sat a circa 1980s, shirtless Kurt Russell, who proceeded to flirt up a storm with Nora. Halfway into the overly saccharine exchange and Celine was strongly considering pushing her mom out of the hot air balloon and into Kurt’s waiting arms just to be rid of the eyerolling display.

They ended their conversation as a light snow shower descended on them.

_“Some days I miss you worse than others. There’s so much I wanted you to be around for.”_

_Her mom’s grip on her had been tight…reassuring._

_“And I am…I will be…in my own way. In the meantime, I’d like you to focus on the present moment. The one passing by with every second, every inhale and exhale. No more looking back. There’s nothing of use in that direction. In doing this…this is how you honor me.”_

She’d meant to say more, but her alarm blared her back to reality before she could.

Overall, the combination of her colorful dreaming and the heart to heart with her mom left her feeling not only well-rested, but inherently excited for the week that was to come. As usual, her mom had been right. There was no use marinating in the realm of ‘what-if’s’. The realm of playing on repeat all the scenarios that could end in pain or suffering. This life was begging to be lived and she would honor her by doing so with everything she had in her.

By nine o’clock Celine had her sole luggage container stuffed with all the items needed for her trip north. Most of it included her medications as well as extra gauze, dressings, and bandage wraps for her hand. She wasn’t as concerned with packing a ton of clothing as she tended to re-wear a lot of what lay untouched in her dresser drawers back in Maine.

After guzzling down a few cups of coffee she checked her phone messages.

Her Uncle Lucien had texted back to let her know the house was ready for her occupation of it, and that he and the family couldn’t wait to see her. Lisa also texted back with a promise to get in contact with everyone else from their friend group. Apparently, their town’s drive-in theatre was hosting a Midnight Madness festival later in the week showcasing classic horror films. She couldn’t wait to smoke a little with them and get in on the action, just like old times.

Bruce still hadn’t called or texted, but she chose not to linger on this disappointment. There was a time and place, this wasn’t either. Guilt was not welcome on this weeklong excursion. And she held no desire to pressure him for a response. Everyone processed frustration at their own pace, and in his defense, she had been in the wrong with her secretive liaisons.

Though, she couldn’t deny she missed her best friend terribly.

Her final task before hitting the road was to pop by Stephanie’s for her pickup of essentials. The woman didn’t live far away, so she was content to walk there. Before embarking in the needed direction, she got out her Oldsmobile from the parking garage and parked it in front of her apartment building, so she’d be ready to leave upon returning. Only after securing her luggage in the trunk did she take off toward Steph’s.

It took eight firm knocks on the door before Stephanie answered, ginger hair frazzled and eyes bloodshot.

“Yikes,” Celine noted, peering up and down at the woman. “Rough night?”

“Morning,” she corrected, stepping aside to let her in. “I dropped my phone in the toilet, I’ve gotten maybe six hours of sleep the past three days, and that bitch-I mean…you remember Caroline Bambach? She reviews all the local theater productions in _The Gotham Times_?”

“The same one that sat in on one of our improv sessions and later wrote _‘I don’t normally condone mass shootings, but for these people I’m willing to make an exception’_?”

As messed up as it was, at the time Celine found the commentary quite funny. And rather than prevent people from coming to their sessions, they’d drawn an impressive crowd the next time around. Apparently, everyone wanted to witness how bad of improvers they were to warrant such an extreme review.

“The very same,” Stephanie answered, palming her weary face. “She’s apparently co-directing _Buffy the Vampire Slayer: The Musical_…which makes no sense since she’s been very outspoken about how she views non-drama productions. There’s a rumor floating around they’re only accepting auditions from people who’ve gotten a degree from an arts university.”

Celine’s brows rose.

“That hardly seems fair. Some of the best natural actors and singers have never gotten a degree.”

“That’s what I’m saying.” She gestured for Celine to follow her to a spare room. “Which is why I’m planning to forge the needed documents to get that god damn audition. I know I’ve got the vocal chords to secure Willow’s role. Everyone in that theater is going to know it by the time I’m through.”

“You have my support,” she encouraged. “And bail money if you end up escorted out by the police.”

This seemed to brighten her countenance somewhat.

“I wasn’t able to get Chemdawg, so you’ll have to settle for Sour Diesel,” she redirected, picking up two brown bags. “And these shrooms…they’re a slight variation of the strain I normally grow. I know you’re pretty well experienced with tripping, but I feel the need to say…proceed with caution…these are a little more intense than normal. Last thing I need to hear is you were seen naked climbing a water tower because the ghost of Richard Nixon told you to.”

Celine didn’t hold back her chuckle. She peeked inside the bag containing the blue and grey mushrooms, tightly wrapped up in a zip-lock baggie. As she studied them, Stephanie slipped a pack of Marlboros from her sweatpants, pulled out two cigarettes, brought them to her mouth and proceeded to light them both.

She was the only person Celine knew who smoked two cigarettes at once.

_“It all depends on my stress level at the time,” Stephanie had once explained upon being questioned about it. “If I’m smoking one, things are good. Two and I’m on the verge of losing my shit.”_

_Celine had cocked her head. _

_“But you’re almost always smoking two.”_

_She snapped her fingers._

_“Exactly.”_

“I appreciate you coming through for me, Steph. Thank you.”

The woman nodded, resting her hip against a table. Both cigarettes were hanging loosely between her index finger and middle.

“So….”

When she didn’t say anything else, Celine glanced at her.

“So?”

Stephanie was wearing a sly expression; eyes narrowed, a half smirk in place, looking like she’d just caught her red handed in the crime of the century.

“You and the Joker….” She waved her hand through the air. “…how long has it been going on?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Indeed, she felt as if she’d been caught red-handed. It was taking great strength not to let on how nervous Stephanie’s interrogation was making her.

“Pu-_ah_-lease,” she deflected, rolling her eyes. “I read and watch the news. Wasn’t too difficult to put two and two together.”

“Put what and what together?”

“Am I going to have to spell it out for you?”

“Y-E-S?”

Snorting, Stephanie flicked her ash into a nearby tray.

“Joker kidnaps those kids. You ask me to dress you up like a guy. News outlets say two men, one eerily matching your description after my makeover, arrived with the kids at Gotham General. Also, you look like you went toe to toe with Jean-Claude Van Damme. _And_ you have a history of being his hostage. You do the math.”

Celine shrugged casually.

“Math has never really been my forte.”

Her eyes narrowed even further.

“You’re hiding something.”

She did her best to maintain eye contact, unwilling to give anything away.

“Fine,” Stephanie settled on. “Play coy all you want, but I’m ninety-seven percent convinced you and that clown got something going on. And for what it’s worth, I approve.”

She failed to hide her surprise.

“You do?”

“Hell yeah. I mean the pairing is straight up bizarre. But…if there’s anyone capable of curbing homicidal urges, it’s you. I’ve watched you work magic on getting people to open up during sessions with the Cheekbones’. I trust him in your hands more than I do the doctors at Arkham...or even Batman for that matter. Plus…bizarre is……_beautiful_. Life would be so boring without it, no?”

“No,” Celine answered. “I mean _yes_…it would be. I-your accusation is completely unfounded…but thank you for your support nevertheless.”

She still didn’t appear all the way convinced.

“If I find out I was right all along; I will NEVER let you live it down.”

“I look forward to that day…because I know it won’t _ever_ come.”

Stephanie made a noise of disagreement, but thankfully switched the topic to calmer waters. Not twenty minutes later they were voicing their goodbyes with a tight hug.

On the walk back, Celine had to commend Steph’s perceptivity. Perpetual stoner aside, she wasn’t shy about connecting the dots. Which meant she really needed to be more careful in the future regarding who she involved in her run-ins with Joker.

_Ideally there won’t be anymore, but the universe seems to be bent on proving me wrong. _

She made it to her car a short while later and sprung the trunk open. Moving aside her luggage case, she removed the black square of the floor revealing her spare tire and securely tucked her brown bagged goodies inside. Once she was convinced a prison sentence wasn’t in her immediate future, she rested her luggage atop the black square and closed the trunk.

Before taking off, she rummaged through the binder sitting on the floor of the passenger side. It was home to all of her CD’s from the past two decades. Her mindset was slipping into one of avid wanderlust and she needed the background music to accompany that.

She opted on _Core_ by Stone Temple Pilots. There was nothing like tearing down a road jamming to “Wicked Garden.”

She started up her car, threw on her sunglasses, and not soon after was watching Gotham’s skyline disappear in her rearview mirror; offering the gloomy city a much-needed peace sign out her window.

x_X_x_X_x

The drive to Calgary Cliff, Maine was approximately a little over six and a half hours. And the first half went mostly without a hitch. She’d managed to go through another STP album, Nirvana’s _Unplugged in New York_, and was steadily burning through Smashing Pumpkins’ _Melon Collie and the Infinite Sadness _when she decided to pull over at a gas station and mini mart in the greater Boston area to fill up on gas and grab something to munch on.

Once her car was on full again and a bushel of bananas were her passenger seat companions, she veered back onto the expressway and made her way north out of the busy city.

Her cruise control was set for seventy-two and “Bullet with Butterfly Wings” had just begun playing.

“The world is a vampire,” she sang along, thumb tapping on the steering wheel, “set to dra-_ayee_-ain. Secret destroyers…hold you up to the flames. And what do I get…for my pay-_ayee_-ain? Betrayed desires, and a piece of the game.”

Her shoulders started to sway back and forth. She was feeling the moment from here to infinity. It was going to be a fan-fucking-tastic week.

“Even though I know…I suppose I’ll show…all my cool and cold-like job….…” She began to bang her head. “Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in the cage! Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage! Then someone-.”

“BOO!”

Joker sprang out from behind her seat with arms extended.

Her entire body shot out of her seat, the seatbelt the only thing preventing her head from striking the ceiling. The steering wheel suffered the consequence of her sudden fright, hands involuntarily jerking it to the right.

An annoyed honk informed her she’d drifted into the right lane. She abruptly hit the brakes and let them pass, heart rate pounding like a gang of drums.

Joker collapsed backward into the seat, hands clutching his tummy, eyes clamped tight as tears threatened to spring out of the corners of his eyes. She could barely hear the music over his high-pitched, nasally giggling.

Her terror quickly gave way to incense. She flicked on her turn signal and worked on slowing the car down onto the shoulder of the road as trucks and cars zoomed past her.

Joker’s laughter failed to lessen. If anything, the car coming to a sudden halt caused him to reignite into another fit.

“Oooo hoo hoo, hee hee hee _ahahaaaa_!”

He was practically choking on his own spit, chest heaving up and down, tears smudging his black and white greasepaint.

Gritting her teeth so hard it bordered on painful, Celine put the car in park. Her next set of actions were made without thought.

She unclipped her seatbelt, threw open her car door, and hopped out onto the gravel beneath her. Joker was still in the clutches of a fit when she yanked open the backseat door. Her hands shot out and grabbed onto one of his ankles. She tugged on it hard, causing his body to swivel onto its side. This did little to deter his mirth.

Fueled by a rush of stamina, she tugged on his ankle again, feet propelling backwards. Joker’s body went along for the ride, half of his form nearly out the door.

She didn’t have time to consider what a spectacle she was making to everyone driving by. Her only goal was to rid the backseat of the chortling, red-faced clown occupying it.

Unfortunately for her, the shoulder she’d parked on made way for a steep ten-foot drop into a ditch. And in such a haste was she to get him out that when the soil beneath her right foot gave out, she could do little to prevent the rapid drop backwards.

One moment she had a firm hold on his ankle, the next she was tumbling backwards in a somersault off the side of the road, landing with a heavy _splat_! on her back at the bottom of the muddy, ankle-high watered ditch. Instantly, her back was soaked. And only when the adrenaline began to wear off did she wince and cup the back of her skull.

Joker’s laughter was fully unleashed now, though _thankfully_ muffled by the sound of speeding traffic.

She blinked up at the blue sky, groaning softly.

_Just. My. Luck_.

This was immediately countered with-

_At least the sun is out, and this didn’t happen while it was downpouring. And miraculously my bandages aren’t soaked. Optimism. I’m going to need a healthy serving of it right about now._

For close to a minute, she was content to reside at the bottom of the ditch, resigned to her fate. She even played a game of ‘what shape is that cloud?’ For some reason, there were an excessive amount of abstract horses. 

Her view of the sky was obstructed moments later as Joker slid his way down into the ditch and practically skipped over to her, beaming from ear to ear. She could tell it was taking great effort on his part not to resume laughing.

“Aww…aren’t you just a sight?” he teased, extending a gloveless hand.

She was tempted to ignore his help, but that he even bothered with the action was, whether she wanted to admit it at this moment or not, surprisingly thoughtful.

Begrudgingly, she wrapped her hand around his and allowed him to pull her up.

When she was on steady footing again, her fingers got to work on twisting her t-shirt, ridding it of any excess moisture. She then knocked loose all of the mud that clung to her like a second skin; particularly around her bare legs (she briefly chastised herself for choosing khaki shorts to wear). The creeping humidity too aided in sweating some of the dirt off.

_I need to be hosed down. _

“It-_ah_ _never_ gets old scaring you silly,” he gloated, still wearing the same self-indulgent grin. “I’ll admit…didn’t expect ya to go for the ankle. I can _confidently_ say that’s a new one from you. Ribs, groin, ankle…you sure know how to keep me on my toes. Or rather- _off_ of them.”

He briefly put all his weight onto the tips of his toes, adding a couple inches to his already towering height. She was sorely tempted to push him over, but the desire for an explanation overruled it.

Some of the water in her hairline trickled into her eyes. She worked on wiping it away.

“What the _hell_ are you doing in the backseat of my car?”

He shrugged.

“You were packing, I got _curious_, slipped inside while you were away, and uh…here we …_are_.”

“You couldn’t have just asked?”

“My second favorite element – behind all the potentials of uranium – has always been…_wait for it_…surprise!” The fingers of his left hand shot out at her like an amateur magician. He wiggled them a few times in her face. “Really gets the heart pumping, don’t you think?”

She stifled a sigh. 

“You are _such_ a little shit.”

He giggled at that.

“Aw, you’re gonna make me tear up, sweets. That’s one of the _nicest_ things anyone’s ever said to me.” He leaned toward her with hands clasped behind him, lowering his tone to one of relentless playfulness. “Personally… I don’t think you would want me any other way.”

She chose to overlook this attempt at antagonizing her. Prior to his unexpected appearance, she really was having an excellent day. It seemed a waste to let him steal that from her.

“Why wait so long to make your presence known?” she tried, feeling the last of her fury ebb away. She supposed it was funny, in a way. From his perspective, _not_ hers. “I could have killed us both.”

“Chasing you around Gotham makes for a _very_ sleepy clown,” he answered, pretending to rest his cheek against two hands and emitting some snoozing noises. “Can’t blame me for wanting to catch some shut eye. But don’t you worry that pretty _little_ head of yours, I made sure to time it _just_ right. You’re no use to me as roadkill.”

His lack of remorse informed her not to bother with expressing any further frustration. It was clear he was proud of having gotten the one-up on her.

This led to the next question: what now?

They were nearly four hours out of Gotham and she really didn’t feel like making the return trip back. Calgary Cliff was by all means a closer drive.

_I cannot take him home. It puts everyone I love at risk. _

Then again, she had this to consider- she would be gone from Gotham for a week…Joker was with her…Joker would be gone from Gotham for a week…Gotham could rest easy knowing the residential homicidal clown wasn’t around to cause his usual brand of mayhem.

Batman could get some rest. She owed him that at least, right?

_Am I really considering this? _

One glance at Joker and she knew his thought process was of a similar nature to hers. Would she or wouldn’t she risk the journey backward?

_This is so surreal. Didn’t mom and I just have this conversation? No more moving backwards. Surely…surely this is an exception. You don’t lead a wolf to a pack of sheep. And though my family can hardly be described as sheep, compared to an atypical predator like Joker, they would be out of their depths in dealing with him should the occasion call for it._

Joker was studying her with great scrutiny, occasionally shooting out his tongue to lick up the saliva near his scars. She could practically hear the rumbling of his thoughts.

_Would she or wouldn’t she? Would she or wouldn’t she?_

It made her wonder just how intentional his timing had been in revealing himself. He must have suspected whenever he’d been lucid that they were heading north, potentially to her hometown seeing as he knew quite a lot about her already. He _wanted_ her to get far enough away from Gotham that returning would be a chore at best, a migraine at worst. Ultimately, it was a test. And she hadn’t a clue what the correct answer was.

_I…I’m at a loss, truly. Intuition…please…guide me in the right direction._

She opened her mouth, not entirely sure herself what would come out.

“I’m going to be spending a week in the town I grew up. Meeting with old friends, seeing some of my favorite relatives. It’ll no doubt bore you to tears, so…I’ll drive you back to Gotham.”

His response was instantaneous.

“Not a _chance_. Between hanging that religious nut – contrary to what Crow may have told you, _I_ did the heavy lifting, he was merely a…spectator in the audience - _and_ chasing you around all night, I’d ah say things are getting…_serious_ between us, hm? Only right I meet my bunny’s friends and family.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. It was clear he was fishing for excuses to justify taking him with her. And she had half a mind to make the trip back regardless. Especially with his mention of Martha Graves’s “suicide”. Residual guilt still lingered in her for her indirect complicity in the murder.

Joker picked up on this instantly; rolling his eyes.

“If I didn’t, someone _else_ would have,” he followed up, leaving no room for dispute. “She had a _very_ hangable neck. _That_ we can at least agree on.”

“You have a far more hangable neck,” she pointed out. “But you don’t see me plotting out your murder.”

“That’s because _secretly_…you’re in _loooooooove_ with me.”

She snorted.

“You sure it’s not the other way around?

What sounded like a giggle got trapped in his throat. His eyes flicked down to her lips, licking his own as he did so.

_Off topic, off topic, off topic. Sweet nebula, get it together._

She focused her attention behind him on a protruding tree root. Its gnarled shape got her thinking about how powerful planting a seed was. With the proper water, light, and nourishment, the surrounding environment really didn’t matter. Out of defiance, it would bloom, so long as it had someone willing to cultivate it.

Joker…_Jack_…when she shut off her brain and tuned in interiorly…it told her he was just _itching_ to have someone wrap their palms around him…around the shell-like exterior that was his soul…bend their lips down…and kiss the foundation better; breathing life into it anew. Though he’d eat a bullet before ever admitting to it, he yearned for something he’d never received …and she knew inherently, _instinctively_…there was a window of time to give it to him, and if she didn’t now, no one else would ever bother to again. That gap would seal forever, and all the universe would mourn what he could have been.

Now whether he would be receptive to it…that was still unclear. _That_ was the danger. But it was encouraging anyhow, right? Knowing he yearned, even if it was submerged in the trenches of denial.

_Is that the consensus then? I bring him home and see where things lead? Hope he doesn’t go postal and kill everyone I love during a mood swing? And can I even extend him the love capable of making him better? Can I overlook just how much of a threat he is? _

Her sigh was heavy.

“Okay.” She looked up at him, making sure his gaze was locked with hers. “I’m going to say this only once. You so much as lay a finger on any of them and it _will_ be the last thing you do. I am _dead_ serious about this, Jack. You harm them, you die. Be it by my hand or someone else’s.”

He made to retort – most likely with something aggravating – when she shot both hands up into his hair, gripped onto his green locks, and brought him down so they were nearly touching noses. His eyes prompted involuntarily shivers. So deep, so lively…so…_pretty_.

“Do you understand?”

Pursing his lips, he tried to lean back, but she kept a firm hold of him.

“Do. You. Understand?”

His eyes had narrowed into slits.

“Not very _nice_ of you to threaten your guest.”

“You’re not being threatened,” she said. “You’re being promised.”

He scanned her for nearly a full minute; gauging her seriousness.

She returned the favor, involuntarily leaning closer to him; attempting to detect where Jack began and Joker ended.

The cars continued to speed by above them, nonethewiser to the intense exchange below.

In an instant he knocked her hands loose and grabbed her by the cheeks, thumbs sneaking to rest below her chin. She didn’t feel threatened by any means. To her it was clear it was a power move. He did not enjoy being at the physical mercy of anyone.

Prior to today, she’d not have picked up on this. In the aftermath of last night, however, she was allowing herself to naturally read everything from the tic of his jaw to the huffs flying out of his nose to the burning in his eyes and what lie beyond them.

Joker made a humming sound at the back of his throat, licking at his bottom lip. His tongue was dangerously close to darting out and grazing hers.

Abruptly he pinched her cheek with one hand.

“So long as they don’t do something stupid…like _provoke_ me…I’ll…_behave_.”

It was as good of an answer as she would receive.

“Wonderful. Thank you.”

His lips quirked up. He cocked his head.

“Something’s…different about you.”

She tried to twist out of his hold, but one of his hands still had a stern hold of her face.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He was inhaling each one of her responses, pushing his nose closer to hers so he could study her eyes better.

“You’re…you-.” She could sense him struggling for the proper words. “-I can’**_t _**put my finger on _it_…you’re aware of something I’m _not_.”

“I think you’re looking too far into it,” she deflected. “And to be fair, evading a clown in Gotham also prompts some sleepiness. I got a good night’s rest, that’s all.”

He continued peering at her, searching for any hints of deception.

“That _woman_…who was she?”

She didn’t bother playing dumb.

“A very good friend. I needed to vent, she listened.”

“Didn’t know you frequented those sorta places…you uh…really believe in that stuff?”

“I didn’t…until I met her.”

“Hm…” He pushed her away, nearly causing her to topple backwards into the ditch. More to himself, he mumbled, “Might be loonier than I am.”

Before she could respond, he had sprinted halfway up the ditch, leaving her to wobble uncertainly.

_This is actually happening. He’s coming home with me. If this isn’t a disaster waiting to happen I don’t know what is. _

She wondered if Agatha knew this would happen. She wondered if her mom knew this would happen. Was this what she meant by asking him to do something for her?

_I guess I didn’t ask…promising to kill him is definitely **not** asking._

Most importantly, she wondered how true to his word he would be not to harm those close to her. If he dared lay a hand on any of them…

_We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Bright side? I had the foresight to bring the taser gun with me…and Sally. Today still has the makings of being a good day. His presence isn’t going to ruin that._

Her mind made up; she began her trek upward.


	24. Chapter 24

By the time she got back into the driver’s seat (the mud had thankfully dried by this point) Joker had made himself at home. He’d reclined his chair as far back as it would go and slung one long leg across his thigh. After fiddling around with the lever on the side of his chair, his form was propped back at a semi-relaxed angle.

“Where are my bananas?” she asked upon closing the door.

“Tossed ‘em in the back,” was his nonchalant answer.

Sure as shit she glanced at the backseat and they were strewn all over the place. He’d intentionally ripped them from each other and chucked them whatever direction he desired. Her binder of CD’s faired not much better. It sat unzipped, upside down; a few of the disks scattered along the floor.

Groaning quietly, she leaned her forehead onto the steering wheel and worked on even breathing.

“I can’t believe I have a whole week of this,” she mumbled.

He abruptly slapped her shoulder and squeezed.

“Chin up, sweets. Penchant for chaos aside, I can be quite the… _adventurous_ companion.”

She shrugged his hand off, pretending not to hear his low chuckle.

“Please put your seatbelt on.”

“Ah…_no_.”

She thought to argue, then wondered what the point was. Death wasn’t something he feared. If he went flying through the windshield, it was his medical expenses, not hers.

Biting her tongue, she peeked out her window for incoming traffic before smoothly merging back onto the expressway.

Joker immediately rolled down his window and leaned out, his green locks whipping around the harder she accelerated.

“Cupid de Locke” by Smashing Pumpkins had just begun to play, but she was no longer in the mood to rock out. Her brain was sifting through the events that led her to this current predicament. Reluctantly, a giggle escaped her. The universe really was bent on forcing them together, wasn’t it? And Stephanie…she would unleash the biggest ‘I told you so’ in history were she to find out. She could _never_ find out.

At some point Joker had grown bored of hanging his head out the window. He shifted in his seat a few times, seemingly unable to find a cozy position. In his defense, her car was quite small.

His actions were making her somewhat antsy, so she ended up grabbing the end of the aux cord attached to the cassette in her cassette player and offering it to him.

He stared at it, visibly confused.

“Play some music,” she suggested.

His grin was indulgent.

“With _pleasure_.”

Scooping his phone out of his pocket, he plugged the cord in and began shuffling through his list of songs. Indecisiveness appeared to be a trait of his when it came to music selection. His shoulders would rise up as if to hit play, before he’d shake his head and mumble “no, no, no…” and scroll down to something else, tongue peeking through his teeth.

Three-fourths of her attention was on the road, a quarter of it was on him.

He finally made up his mind and hit play, fingers flying to the volume dial and cranking it up.

The opening beats of the song had her foot unconsciously tapping up and down. She didn’t know the name, but as soon as the rapping began, she had a good suspicion as to who the group was.

_“It go; gansta-gangsta, thug, killa  
I’m the black panther that shot the drug dealer  
I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks  
Ride on top of the car, they crush their rocks-”_

“Wu Tang?” she guessed loudly.

“Mhm,” he confirmed, bringing his hands to rest behind his head. “This song always ah…_revs_ up the engine so to speak. Gets me nice and _limber_ to spar with Batsy. He should be flattered; I got a whole playlist in his honor.”

She filed this information away for later. If her and Bruce’s relationship ever mended, he would no doubt be interested to know his nemesis hyped himself up to the tune of Wu Tang.

For the next half hour, she let him have full control of the song selections. Old school hip hop and rap appeared to be a personal weakness of his. They went through songs by De La Soul, Roxanne Shantae, Digital Underground, Beastie Boys, and to her utter amazement “Push It” by Salt N Pepa.

“You like this song?” she nearly had to shout over the funky beats.

His answer was to hum along with the song. She couldn’t tell if he just felt that comfortable around her or he just gave that little of a shit. Either or, it was a welcome change from his normal capriciousness. And it relaxed her in his presence considerably. His enjoyment of the music was truly infectious.

Alas, even he seemed to grow tired of his preferred genre. After “Push It” finished up he was back to striking the ‘next’ button on the following few songs. She would hear just a smidge of the intro before he moved on.

The most recent song he skipped had her eyes growing wide. Without thought, she grabbed his bicep, prompting a sharp look from him.

“Was that-.” She shook her head, gazing at the cassette tape. “Go back one. I swear to God that sounds like-.”

He indulged her, returning to the song in question.

_“Who can say where the road goes  
Where the day flows, only time  
And who can say if your love grows  
As your heart chose, only time”_

“You like Enya?!?!” she blurted; a guffaw trapped in her throat. “Enya?!?!?!”

He was doing his damndest to appear as oblivious as possible. One look at the mischief glimmering in his eyes however, discredited his innocence entirely.

“Uhh…yeah? Bit sexist of you to assume I **_don’t_**.”

“Sexist?” she repeated, then re-thought his statement. “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean for it to come across that way…I just…she’s not someone I thought you’d have in your itinerary.”

Then again, one of her first official introductions to him had him belting Celine Dion at her. She really shouldn’t have been as shocked as she was.

He ended up settling on a death metal song whose lyrics were being expelled so quickly and aggressively she could barely keep up with what was being said. Mercifully, he dialed down the volume, so it served, at best, as background noise.

Not soon after she could feel her skin prickle. He was examining her openly, twiddling his thumbs, saying nothing. She longed to itch her cheek but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of discomforting her.

“Soooo….” He drawled.

When he didn’t follow this up with anything, she glanced at him.

“So?”

He eyed her up and down. One hand rubbed the inside of his thigh in contemplation.

“I ah…I take it your cherry’s still un-**_popped_**?”

Her brows shot together.

“Real subtle,” she murmured. “What on earth prompted that question?”

His shrug was nonchalant.

“What can I say, I prefer _accuracy_ in my fantasies of you.”

Again, he squeezed his thigh, throwing her a lascivious half smile.

“You’re delusional.”

“And _you_ let me get ya off despite being my former hostage. I’d not be going around pointing fingers if I were you.”

Tragically, he had a very fair point.

She stayed silent, weighing the pros and cons of answering him truthfully.

Joker took her silence as an invitation to break it.

“The frankly _impressive_ amount of vibrators you’ve accumulated…got enough to put a sex shop outta business,” he began to list, holding up a finger for each point, “the obvious lack of a man in your life…_not that I’m complaining_…your _responsiveness_ each time I get a good hold of your ass-.”

“None of that proves I’m a virgin,” she refuted.

“Strongly, _strongly_ implies it,” he countered. “’S okay if you are, sweets, I’m _more_ than happy to break ya in.”

The wink he shot her reignited the heat in her cheeks.

“Honestly?” She risked him a glance before forcing her full attention to the road. “I’m not.”

He opened his mouth to argue.

“I’m not,” she reaffirmed before he could. “I’ve had sex quite a few times. It’s just that…I…don’t quite…um…_heh_…remember it.”

Realization dawned on him.

“_Duh_.” He faced palmed himself. “Shoulda anticipated that. Three sheets to the wind were ya?”

“There’s a blur of faces,” she agreed, even now feeling the slightest bit guilty for how long she had tuned out to her own existence. “Lost it my senior year of high school…end of the year party, I think. In college when my drinking got worse, they were no longer blurs…just…pockets of empty space. There’d be the foreplay at the beginning…then nothing…then waking up naked in their or my bed. I couldn’t tell you if I enjoyed it…if they…got me off…I couldn’t tell you any of their names if you held a gun to my head.”

Before he could say anything, she met his eyes.

“Don’t even think about it.”

He smirked, stroking the tip of one of his scars.

“Such a good girl,” he remarked, once again giving her a lazy scan from head to toe. “Tend to ah-forget how _bad_ you’ve been.”

“And you?” she tried. “Tough for me to believe anyone would want to tango with your brand of crazy.”

_Lies. I let him finger my-._

“Crazy attracts crazy,” was his response, not seeming to feel any which way about his prior rendezvous. “And I’ve bedded some _real_ crazies. Girls that let me whip them, cut them, smack them, choke them, damn near torture them cos its how they got off. Always nice finding someone with a comparable pain tolerance…and believe you me I can take _quite_ the beating.”

“I have no doubt you can,” she said quietly.

Her stomach felt queasy upon learning what his ideal type was. Pain was not something she sought out to feel in non-necessary amounts. So much of it had been a companion in her own life that now she was in a better frame of mind, she almost held an aversion to it. As if it would trigger a relapse of all the times she’d felt her lowest. All the times she sat huddled in a bathroom with a razor blade, slicing into her thighs until-.

Clearing her throat, she scanned her surroundings through the windshield. About ten more miles and they’d be in New Hampshire.

“Hmmm…” Joker mentioned, never having taken his eyes off her, “Find it _interesting_ a little pain doesn’t get your motor going seeing as your…_museum_ of scars even has _me_ beat.”

_Of course he would go there. Must have saw them when he vandalized my thigh._

“I never liked cutting myself,” she admitted, feeling compelled to explain herself. “I mean I did don’t get me wrong…but the bulk of those scars came at a time where I was numb to everything. And when you’re numb, you can hurt your body in as many ways possible without truly feeling it. It’s only when…I became committed to healing…to working on combatting my usual outlets for self-loathing that cutting began to…hurt. When this started happening, I thought I needed to cut deeper. Turns out…it meant I wasn’t associating self-harm with relief anymore. It meant…I was heading in a good direction.”

“Shame. We could’ve had some _real_ fun with a few of my favorite blades.”

“I’d consider this further proof you need to leave me alone and find someone more aligned with your…tastes.”

He was quiet for a moment.

“I used to like lemons when I was young.”

She turned to him.

“Relevancy, your honor.”

It slipped out before she could contain it. But Joker’s lips involuntarily twitching made it worth it.

He leaned toward her, resting his elbow on the console.

“Loved anything bitter…nothing like a healthy sho-**_ck_** of citric acid to the system…but lemons, above all else, were my favorite. I was uh…a very _heh_ sour child.” He smiled at the memory currently passing through his brain. “Then…I grew older. And I didn’t have easy access to lemons anymore. And when I finally got access to them again…wouldn’t you know it, it was like drinking battery acid! Tongue didn’t like them anymore, tummy didn’t like them anymore, brain didn’t like them anymore.”

She was struggling to understand.

“Tastes…evolve over time,” he divulged. “And sometimes…_sometimes_ too much bitter makes you long for something…_sweet_.”

_Is he saying he’s not into inflicting pain anymore? Because his crimes in the past year alone very much dispute that._

“You like causing harm in the real world,” she said. “It’s only natural you would like to cause it when you’re intimate. We all have our preferences, yours just aren’t mine. And I’m okay with that.”

He muttered something that sounded faintly like “we’ll see” but she couldn’t be sure and wasn’t all that willing to ask.

“So…you uh…_ever_ get around to having sex sober?”

“You seem weirdly keen on my sex life.”

“Someone’s gotta be.”

It was such a cheeky response she had to suppress a laugh.

“I’ve not had sex since I’ve gotten sober.”

Joker counted his fingers. He released a drawn-out whistle.

“That’s nearly eight whole years, sweets. Congrats, you’ve managed to do something even _I_ couldn’t.”

He offered her a mocking round of applause.

“Neat!” she exclaimed, unable to help but go along with him. “What do I win?”

“One night to remind you what you’re missing out on. Two, if you ask _nicely_.”

She knew he was referring to himself but opted to play dumb.

“Hmm…I suppose the timing is right…and Jonathan…he’s been so understanding as of late-.”

Before she could finish that statement, Joker drove a knife into the dashboard just above her radio. She jumped a little, but ultimately relied on the tight grip around the steering wheel to maintain composure.

“Not. _Funny_.”

In an instant, she was reminded of the danger he posed.

_Perhaps it’s best not to bait him. Confined to a car and I have a smaller rate of survival if I really do piss him off. _

He made no move to extract the blade.

The silence that followed was painfully awkward. She was dead set on staring ahead while his eyes were boring cinders into her skin.

“It’s not that I planned to remain abstinent,” she tried, using her most diplomatic voice. “You said it yourself, I’ve got an ungodly amount of vibrators. I’m just as much a sexual person as anyone else…it’s just that…when you’re on the road to recovery…recovery of mind, spirit, and body…it’s difficult to focus on anything else. At least it was for me. Sex and relationships…they took a backdrop so I could nourish the most important relationship there was…the one I had neglected for years…the one with myself. A lot of who I’d normally go for – partying types, addicts, those self-medicating to deal with their depression- could no longer hold my interest. Getting with them was taking a step backwards, not forward. And truthfully…I didn’t trust myself not to relapse. So…as a necessity… I sorta…stepped out of the dating pool.”

He offered no remark, so she continued.

“When I was finally at…a good place in my life…a healthy place where I felt ready to give someone all the love I had in me…I…”

She massaged the back of her neck. They weren’t bad memories, just…disappointing ones. The only upside is they were lessons.

“I tended to attract…good men. Intelligent men. Well-articulative. Which are exactly my type. But somehow they all shared the same commonality…I’d get to know them, we’d find the same things funny, share the same morals, have the same questions about the world and our place in it…and then the other shoe would drop. They had a girlfriend. Or a wife. Or were in the midst of a complicated relationship.”

She breathed in, mind flicking through a few select guys she thought at the time might have been the one.

“And they would all do this thing which-.” She shook her head, roughly palming the steering wheel. “-put me in such a compromising position. We’d be in their apartment or their house…and they would compliment me…make me feel good and confident…fully aware I knew they were committed to someone…and they’d give me this look, each and every one of them. They would never initiate something physical…never physically cheat on who they were with…but they would look at me with a mix of adoration and encouragement …as if to say… “it’s okay…let this happen…if you take the first step, I’ll follow”…and that…that just never sat right with me. I don’t like cheaters to begin with…I find it such a disrespectful thing to do. Just break things off if you’re not happy, you know? More than that, however…I was the one that was supposed to be responsible, I was supposed to initiate. So if in the chance they got caught by their partners later on, they could all say “well, _she_ kissed me first”.”

Rotating her neck, Celine leaned back in her seat. She had never told anyone about these strings of romantic mishaps. These observations sat collecting dust in the attic that was her subconscious.

“I deserved better,” she stated, meaning it then and meaning it now. “I deserved someone who…_who_…”

“-wasn’t a coward?” Joker finished.

“Y-yeah,” she stuttered out, too nervous to look at him.

He nodded.

“That you do.”

It was one of those rare times she knew he was voicing a thought with the utmost sincerity. And that he agreed with her-.

_Don’t think too deeply about it. Even though…he recognizes what none of them did at the time._

“So…not even casual sex?” he pestered. “Quickies? One-night stands? Two night-stands? The occasional orgy? C’mon, _at least_ an extra in a porno.”

She chuckled a little.

“After a while of this happening, I sorta assumed I was cursed. I was…_am_ cool not dating. And I’m not a casual person. In fact, I distinctly remember telling you in my apartment what would happen if you chose to pursue something with me.”

“Don’t uh…don’t recall that so much as I do your little…ra-**_p_**.”

Biting her lip, she tried not to smile like an idiot.

“The rap about you liking big butts?”

“Mhm…remarkably _factual_ by the way.”

He was suddenly very much in her personal space, hovering over the center console between them; head tilted down, eyes grazing over her cheek before descending down to her neck and then her chest and thighs.

_It is WILD how good he is at injecting sexual tension into any given moment. Fucking Aries indeed. Maybe there is something to star signs…_

“Then again…” He tilted his head, right hand lowering until it was clamped around her bare knee. “It’d be a disservice not to sample the rest of you. So many…_delicious_ points of interest. Tell me sweets, how many lives have these thighs saved?”

Initially, his question threw her for a complete loop. Until she recalled the baby blue t-shirt she was wearing. Most of the words were obscured by caked on mud. Before her tumble, it had proudly read in black cursive-

** _Thick Thighs Save Lives_ **

She’d always considered it a novelty shirt, certainly nothing sexual. Her own thighs weren’t exactly able to fit into a size two. It was a statement of empowerment.

But from the leisure manner in which Joker’s hand continued to glide up her leg, resting on the inside of her thigh before offering it a playful, yet possessive squeeze, she was sure she’d have trouble ever viewing her t-shirt so innocently again.

_I should slap him. He’s long overdue for it._

“About as many as they’ve ended,” she said, attempting to appear unfazed by his grip on her (and internally grateful the traffic wasn’t heavy).

“Mm…that so? Well, I look _forward_ to finding out what-ah _fate_ they have in store for me.”

He leaned in and gave her neck a long sniff, the tip of his nose brushing across her pulse; forcing her to bite down on a tickle-induced chuckle. His fingers had discretely woven into the apex of her thigh, so very near her pussy it was nearly humming at the close contact.

Just as quickly, he removed his hand and retreated to his spot.

Her pulse thumped fiercely; still feeling the aftershocks of his warm grip on her.

“What part of commitment do you not understand?”

“Sweets…I commit to _everything_ I do. Why-ah-_why_ would you think you’re any different?”

She had not the slightest rebuttal for this. It left her gaping like a very unattractive guppy.

To her relief, the tension was interrupted by a demanding grumble courtesy of Joker’s stomach.

“You’re hungry!” She hoped she didn’t come off too hysterical in her need for a distraction. “I’ll stop somewhere. Sit down or fast food?”

He, thankfully, welcomed this distraction.

“I take it you’re discluded from the menu?”

“Gotta keep your options in the realm of affordability.”

He mumbled something she couldn’t make out.

“There’s some absolutely bomb lobster rolls at this drive-thru place a few miles from here,” she offered. “Do you like seafood?”

“_Do you?_”

She was a little thrown off by his consideration. Why did it matter if she did or not?

Joker picked up on her bewilderment quicker than she was ready for.

“Gotta say…I’ve never met such a needlessly suspicious person. It ah can really _hurt_ a guy’s feelings.”

He clutched his chest dramatically.

She responded with the first thing that came to mind.

“I know what you are. Some back and forth conversation won’t change that.”

His eyes narrowed. A tic rippled through his jaw.

“So, so, **_so_** dedicated to this perception of me you’re not even willing to challenge the accuracy of it.”

“No,” she agreed. “No, I’m not. That’s how you end up stabbed. Or shot. Or set fire to. Knowing you deeper is not a risk worth taking.”

_My. God. Stop. Talking. Keep that shit locked up._

He abruptly wiggled his knife out of the dashboard. She instantly grew tense.

Exhaling loudly, he began twirling the handle.

“Let’s clear the air then.” He gestured the weapon at her. “You’ve got a whole week of me, no way around it. And I’m _not_ one for silence…puts me on edge, breeds doubt that’s not very productive. Now…I thought we were having a good thing going. I learn a little bit about you, you learn a little bit about me, tit for tat and all those marvelous _pleasantries_. I don’t see why we can’t continue on as we’ve been. I mean…would you _really_ prefer I held a knife to your throat the entire drive, describing all the ways I could remove your major organs? Sift through all the discrepancies between skinning an animal versus a human?”

In an instant, his blade was pressed into the side of her throat. Not hard enough to cut, but firm enough to pinch.

“Hm?” he pushed. “’Cos if _so_, I’m _more_ than willing to oblige.”

She swallowed, feeling her tendons push back against the blade.

“I don’t understand why you would even care to-.”

“Shh shh _shhhh_,” he interrupted, staring at her from beneath his lashes. “Don’t _think_. Sharp as that brain is, it has a knack for getting you in trouble. I’ve simplified things for us both. Do you want this to be a pleasant drive or an unpleasant one? _Your_ choice…which is not an offer I make often. So _few_ are deserving of that privilege.”

“I-.” She inhaled deeply. “-would like this to be a pleasant drive.”

He removed the knife and relaxed in his seat.

“Good choice,” he commended, flicking the blade close. “Now…where were we? Ah! Seafood. We like? Dislike? _Indifferent_? Pescatarian? No, no, no…there was chicken in your freezer.”

_How does he…why does he- nevermind. Let’s focus on the fact that he actually…has a point. The reason I survived so long as his hostage is because I didn’t overthink things. I rolled with the punches, whatever direction they knocked me. It’s probably one of the things he appreciates most about me. It’s probably what prevented my premature death. I don’t know his motives…why he’s adamant in knowing this information about me…and…it doesn’t matter. So long as I don’t forget who he is…I can’t be led astray. Stick to my guns and he can’t use them against me._

“Helloooooo,” Joker called out, balling his hand into a fist and offering a few light knocks against the side of her temple. “Anyone home? Earth to _Celineeeeee_.”

“Yes,” she answered, rolling back her shoulders, “I love seafood. It’s a crime not to growing up where I did.”

He leaned back in his seat and nodded.

“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Again, he was aiming to antagonize her. It figured he couldn’t celebrate his victory gracefully.

She chose the route of mercy. The last thing she wanted was a knife at her throat for the duration of the trip.

“So, you down for some lobster rolls or what?” she redirected.

“Down? Yes, _yes_ let’s see these _ah_ bomb-filled lobsters.”

They reached _Mel’s Clam Shack_ not two minutes later.

Upon pulling up to the speaker box, she rolled down the window on her end. Joker wasted no time lunging over her to peruse the menu, forcing her to squish back into her seat or risk ending up with a mouthful of his hair.

“Thanks for choosing _Mel’s_, Home of Your Clam Shack So Whack You Can’t Help But Come Back, I’m Liz, How may I help you?”

Before she could answer, Joker spoke up.

“Gimme a minute, princess. Gotta see what-_ah_ we’ve got to play with.”

“No problem sir, begin when you’re ready.”

Celine’s frown was discrete.

_Princess? Sheesh, marry the girl why don’t you._

Her frown deepened in response to this thought. Was she jealous? No, that- _no_.

As Joker continued to scan the items, he wrapped an arm around her neck, giving his torso some leeway off the center console. She shivered as all it did was bring her body closer to his. Her face was eye-level with the side of his scarred cheek. She buried down the unexpected urge to kiss his mangled flesh.

Joker seemed to take FOREVER deciding. Partly she thought it was his trademark indecisiveness, and partly she suspected he was trying to wind her up as much as possible. He was practically draped on her lap at this point, humming to himself as his eyes leisurely hopped from item to item.

After ten minutes of silent perusal, a line began to accumulate behind them. And five minutes later, the first honk rang out, nearly causing Celine to bury her face into Joker’s neck out of embarrassment.

She gripped his chin and tilted his head toward her.

“Jack…_please_. I’m usually a patient person, but you’ve even got me struggling not to toss you out the window and drive away.”

His grin was one of satisfaction. Expectancy, even.

“How about this?” he suggested. “You plant a smooch on me – _with tongue_ \- and I’ll see about making _up_ my mind.”

She wanted desperately to deny him, but another honk joined the vehicle behind hers.

“Oh for the love of-.”

Before he could respond, she slipped a hand into his hair and yanked him toward her, pressing her mouth against his. Almost shyly, her tongue brushed against his chapped lips. He wasted no time parting his lips and leaning into her kiss, his tongue seeking hers out as the arm behind her neck drew her closer into him.

Surprisingly, the scent of soap and clean linens all but exterminated the faint whiff of kerosene. And each time he stroked her tongue against his, he left behind a tinge of cool mint. For whatever reason, he chose cleanliness over the soot and chemicals that usually permeated off of him. And despite herself, it made her sneak and arm behind his back and tug him closer, pushing him to elicit an extremely satisfied purr into her mouth.

The next series of honks snapped her back to reality. Her eyes fluttered open and the hand in his hair attempted to find its way out. He managed to christen her bottom lip with a farewell nip before retreating back a few inches, studying her red-smeared mouth with hooded eyes.

“Good…that’s a good look on you there. Should be wearing it more _often_.”

She tried to control her breathing as he peered at her like he’d rather devour the dessert in front of him and not the seafood outside the window.

_Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad th-._

“Sir?” The speaker box crackled slightly in response to the impatient tone pouring through it.

Joker steered his attention back to the woman attempting to take his order.

“Yeah…I’ll ah…I’ll take one of everything.”

“One of…_everything_?”

“_Yup_. Please and thank you, Lizzy.”

Celine was pretty sure she and the poor drive-thru cashier released a groan at the same time, which only bolstered Joker’s delight.

“I am never taking you to a drive-thru place ever again.” She shoved him hard enough against the chest it actually propelled him back into his seat.

Joker’s grin was lop-sided.

“Not very nice of you, sweetness. I just paid their electric bill for the month.”

She ignored him as she coasted up to the window to pay, internally dreading the interaction.

The cashier – Liz – was trying desperately not to glare at them, a forced smile frozen on her face.

“That’ll be $70.55.”

Celine fished her debit card out of her shorts pockets as quickly as she could and handed it over to the woman. The transaction went through in record time.

“If you could please pull up ahead, we’ll run your order out when it’s ready.”

“Thank you so much, Liz,” she felt the need to say, adopting her most grateful tone. “I apologize for my companion; courtesy is not his strong suit. Thank you for putting up with us both, you’re an absolute angel. I know customers like us make you lose your faith in humanity…just know I appreciate your patience so much. Sorry again.”

Liz, thankfully, didn’t appear to be the type to hold grudges. A more natural smile reformed on her face.

“No issue at all, it’ll be about a twenty-minute wait.”

They exchanged a nod that served as a peace treaty before Celine pulled up ahead, put the car in park, and shut off the engine. Her sigh sprang from deep within her lungs. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the headrest. One thumb was busy massaging the interior of her opposite palm.

_I need to regain my cool. He’s intentionally trying to get under my skin…and that opportunistic trap…his lips…his tongue…nope, not going there. Think happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts._

In her mind’s eye a vision of the Atlantic Ocean revealed itself from behind a black curtain. The water was a beautiful dark blue with foams of white sweeping over the shore. The waves were just high enough to enjoy being crashed into. That’d always been one of her favorite things to do. Dig her toes into the sand, extend her arms, and try to withstand wave after wave until eventually the water knocked her back, saltwater claiming her body from the impact.

She could feel her body relax back into a state of near calm. It saddened her that the condition of her hand would prevent her from experiencing these treasured moments, but she could at least dip her toes in…wander out to her ankles…maybe her knees…a little bit further even.

When nearly five minutes passed, Celine realized Joker had yet to say a word. In fact, he was being _eerily_ quiet. It prompted her to slowly open her eyes and glance at him.

“What’s up?” she asked.

He was staring through the windshield, completely emotionless. When he failed to answer her, she tried repeating his earlier gesture. Gathering her fingers into a fist, she reached out and knocked a few times on the side of his head.

“Earth to Jack-.”

He snatched her wrist and turned to her. His expression was impossible to read, so, she relied on tuning in with her natural gift.

_He’s surprised. No, confused. I did something to baffle him._

She tried tugging her wrist out of his hand. He released her slowly.

“What’s wrong?”

“Why…” He shook his head. “_Why pay for my food?”_

The question blindsided her.

“Why not? I paid for the Indian takeout when you stayed with me.”

_As my hostage. Man, this is such a weird, weird relationship._

“You were _hungry_. I benefited from what _you_ ordered.” He sounded like he was trying to unravel a mystery. “Now’s different. Why spend anything at all on me?”

Wasn’t it obvious to him?

“Well, I figured your payment method includes holding a gun to their face. I’d prefer not to have the police called on me. Also…you don’t strike me as the type to carry cash on you. I read the stories from former mob members…you burned millions and millions of your own dollars like it was firewood. Money is a meaningless concept to you, which falls in line with a lot of anarchist’ views. Honestly…it was a no-brainer.”

He seemed half in disbelief of her answer, half suspicious. She tried to reason why.

_Did he expect me to ask him for money? Does he have some sort of primitive view of couples where the man pays for everything? Not that we’re a couple, but I digress. _

She thought this was a small part of it. He could be a complete caveman at times.

_When’s the last time anyone has ever bought him something? For no reason other than to keep his belly full?_

Her intuition brimmed at this acknowledgement. That was more on par with what she believed was responsible for his sudden shift in attitude.

“I’m _not_ thanking you,” he said, almost spitefully.

She stifled a laugh.

“I wouldn’t dare ask you to,” she promised. “You’re my guest, right? Enjoy being spoiled for once.”

Something seemed to shift ever so slightly in his expression. It was miniscule - blink and you’ll miss it- but present nevertheless. And for a solid minute she could do nothing but stare back at him as vehemently as he did her.

Unfortunately, their spell was broken by the deafening revving of a truck’s engine. It was the vehicle that’d been held up behind them for nearly twenty minutes. The driver sped by them, but not before showering them with a series of aggressive honks and a few choice words from the driver’s open window.

“Kill yourselves you fucking retards!”

They accelerated their engine harder before leaving them in a cloud of black engine smoke.

Celine threw her head out the window and screamed loud enough that they would no doubt hear her trying to pull out of Mel’s.

“Rev your engine louder you fucking morons! Let the whole world know how small your dicks are!”

The parking lot was awash with the squeal of screeching tires as the truck tore out of the drive-thru.

_Welp, that calm didn’t last long._

She retreated back inside the car and grabbed the water bottle sitting in a holder between them. Yelling at assholes always made her throat parched.

When she caught Joker’s gaze, her brows furrowed.

“What?”

He was looking at her as if she’d dazzled him somehow; eyes burning with pride, lips quirking up.

“_What?_” she asked again.

He took his time responding.

“Never-uh- never heard my bunny _roar_ so loud before. I…like it. I like it _a lot.”_

She blushed beneath the praise.

“We were an inconvenience,” came her defense. “But there was no need to be so rude about it.”

“Wanna hunt them down and show ‘em just how little we appreciated it?”

Mania was bleeding into his expression.

“I can be vindictive, but usually with my words, not my actions,” she said. “They’re not worth the gas mileage or the effort. Karma will find them, be it in this life or the next.”

“Hmpfh.” He sounded disgruntled, crossing his arms and leaning back into his seat. “No fun.”

“Nope!” she agreed cheerily, thoroughly enjoying his sulkiness.

They still had a ten-minute wait, so she racked her brain for safe topics of discussion.

“Since you like pain so much,” she started. “Ever hear of the Schdmit Pain Index?”

“_Nope_.” He thankfully seemed receptive to her attempt at conversation. “But I like the sounds of it.”

She straightened up in her seat.

“Basically, it’s a measurement for how painful the bite is of some of the world’s deadliest, non-fatal insects. The entomologist it’s named after…I always liked the moniker, they call him the “King of Sting”…was so dedicated to developing some sort of scale of reference that he allowed himself to be stung on three different occasions by each insect he was studying. Three times! Just for accuracy purposes. I don’t think even you’re that sadomasochistic.”

“A man after my own heart,” he remarked, smirking at the thought. “What ah…what was the worst sting? Fire ant? Yellow jacket? _Dracula_?”

Her lips quirked up.

“Bullet ant, native to Central and South America. Though the sting is more localized than other insects Schmidt had been bitten by, it maintains its intensity for a few hours without dulling. Those who’ve been bitten by it mention its similarity to being hit by a bullet from a firearm. It gets skin deep.”

“Pain only has as much power as you give it,” he commented, not appearing all too impressed. “And this guy… this “King of Sting”… how can his doc-_umentation_ be accurate when he’s already anticipating it’ll hurt? Anticipation of pain only heightens it when it finally strikes. You really wanna shake things up, try a blindfold. Remove the sense responsible for knowing what’s coming. You put a completely random insect on his skin…then…_then_ the result might be a little bit different.”

She nodded. He had an incredibly solid point. And she agreed…anticipation of pain only worsened the wound when inflicted.

“Would you ever be receptive to that kind of experiment?” she prompted.

His brows drew together.

“Why?” he asked, peering at her with a squint. “You-ah…planning on doing something nefarious to me, sweets? Should I check the lobster-rolls for anything…sus-**_picious_?**”

She made a sound that was the lovechild between a snort and a laugh. A _snaugh_, if you will.

“You caught me.” She put both hands up as if under arrest. “I’m not actually heading to Maine, I knew you’d sneak into my car, and this was all an elaborate ruse to inflict as much suffering on you as possible. And I would’ve gotten away with it too if not for your uncanny, world renown detective skills.”

Joker’s glare was the definition of playful. He tried hard to look upset, but there was too much amusement glimmering in his eyes.

“You’re _so_ smart, you’re _so_ brilliant,” she went on. “Babies want to be kissed _by_ you, women want to have babies _with_ you, men want you to have sex with their _wives_ so they can give birth to a baby for you to kiss. You-”

“AHEM.”

Celine jumped at the voice. Heat immediately rushed to her cheeks.

Joker was biting down on the knuckle to his index finger, right leg bouncing up and down; looking to be on the verge of losing it.

“Um…your order is ready, ma’am.”

Slowly, Celine turned to Liz, attempting her best nonchalant smile.

“T-thank you.”

She accepted the four white takeout bags, wondering how much had been overheard.

_She probably thinks I’ve got a screw loose. Maybe…maybe he and I really are perfect for each other._

This thought was annihilated seconds later. Before she could even shift gears to move forward, Joker started cackling. Loudly. Very, very loudly. And he didn’t stop until they were miles down the road; his food nearly all the way cooled.


	25. Chapter 25

Watching Joker eat was like watching a wolf tear into a baby lamb that was too weak to fight back. She didn’t think she could constitute what he was doing as eating; so much as it was scarfing down everything in his line of sight. Just as well, he must have never been introduced to the function of a napkin as his vest and dress shirt was soon littered with crumbs and various sauces; fingers already slick with grease.

“How long has it been since you ate?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound overly concerned.

“Mmm…two days?” he guessed, finishing up the rest of his shrimp po’boy with a ravenous bite. “It’da been sooner, but I had to do an _uh_ annual employee _performance_ review. _Loooong _overdue.”

She debated whether to press him for further information. She couldn’t imagine this review being a positive thing for his underlings.

_I’m not going to like what I hear. Perhaps it’s best to leave this stone unturned._

“Go ahead and _ask_,” he said, picking up on her nonverbal curiosity. “It was inspired by your little _stun-**t**_ with Acey. Had to…_re-evaluate_ my men’s priorities. Gil was usually in charge of that department but…_well_… what’s left of him anyway passed through Countess and Jolly Jane’s system ‘bout…mmmm…four days ago?”

Her brows scrunched together.

“Countess and Jolly Jane?”

“Yup.” He was eyeing her with a grin that made her skin crawl. “They’re my best gals…spoiled rotten if you ask me, but I’m _helpless_ when it comes to ‘em.”

_Please…please let him be talking about…not what I think he’s talking about._

“_C’mon_ sweetheart,” he goaded, eyes shining at her visible discomfort. “I know you’re just _dying_ to ask. So…go ahead and _as-**k**_.”

On two separate occasions, Celine had the misfortune of briefly glimpsing some of the more severe injuries Bruce had suffered in his spats with Joker. One had been on his calf, the other his forearm. Both areas of flesh looked like a mouthful of incisors had latched on to him, shook him like a ragdoll before spitting him out. She’d never asked about the source of the injuries…this was still at a time when he didn’t know that she knew he was Batman.

But her gut concluded all she needed to know. Similarly, Joker had mentioned it in passing during their viewing of Rock of Love. He had dogs. Large ones. And they appeared to be just as bloodthirsty as their master.

“German Shepherds, right?” she confirmed, internally grateful her voice didn’t quiver.

“_Yup_.” He was practically salivating at the prospect of telling her. “Stole ‘em a few years back from a ah…not _so_ nice man. Poor things needed to be tranquilized a few times before they could relax enough to be trained. After a little guidance…a little _firm_ male leadership… they ended up the best pooches a guy could want. And I’ll let you in on a secret - males might be the more advantageously aggressive, but females are far more _loyal_. You can have the most aggressive pooch in the world at your beck and call, but they’re _nothing_ without obedience to their master.”

“You think loyalty and obedience are the same thing?”

“When you’re loyal, you _obey_. One is a byproduct of the other. Two ducks, same pond.”

_That’s…intriguing. He wants loyalty not just in his dogs, but those who work for him too. He’ll dominate them into it if he has to…to ensure utter dedication to him. Why? To make up for what? Something had to have served as a catalyst. The type of person who demands blind allegiance…could it be they do so because they were deprived of it in early life?_

_“By whom?”_ she nearly asked out loud; catching her tongue at the last minute.

Joker was monitoring her expressions closely.

“No need to be jealous,” he assured, throwing an arm around her headrest. “There’s _plenty_ of me to go around.”

She ignored the jibe, mind elsewhere.

_He fed Gil…to his dogs. And they passed him…four days ago._

“Jesus,” she blurted, shaking her head. “Was that not overkill? Was torturing him and removing his body parts not enough? A _gunshot_ couldn’t have sufficed?”_. _

“No method of death should be the same,” he insisted. “That’s what makes what I do so _exciting_. Death is inevitable…_predictable_…now how you go about it…_that’s_ where you can really let your creativity run wild.”

She grimaced.

_He’s no doubt considered my end numerous times. What was it he’d said…I wasn’t someone he wanted to prolong the suffering of? There’s that at least. It’ll be neat and quick…hopefully._

“I’d have thought in the aftermath of your playtime with him,” he observed, “you’d be just a _teeny_ bit more grateful to me.”

“Grateful for what exactly? I didn’t ask you to kill him. A lifetime prison sentence would have been just as appropriate.”

He went quiet, prompting a glance from her. Did she set him off with her lack of gratitude?

_Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. What was John hinting at when we discussed the saying? The punishment inflicted has to fit the crime enacted. Jack… went above and beyond. Back then, such extreme measures were only warranted if… _

“Why would you care if he disrespected me?” she asked. “He was doing his job…he was being a loyal employee, just like you wanted.”

He still didn’t say anything, but he did remove the arm behind her and opted to stare ahead.

She thought to press the issue but decided against it. His body language indicated growing tension. She needed to tread carefully.

It was only when they were crossing the bridge over the Piscataqua River – the last stretch of mileage before they were in Maine – that Joker finally broke the silence.

“He ran his mouth.”

He cracked his neck once to the right, then once to the left.

“And I wasn’t lying you know,” he continued, glancing at her. “He really did have it _bad_ for me. While that made his loyalty all the more…beneficial, it also meant…not so nice things for anyone who dared inconvenience me. I could care less he threatened you…it’s a natural reaction to being made an idiot of. His problem was…not letting it…_go_. He knew you were special…knew I was _fond_ of you…had I let him live, you’d have died in a very _impure_ way. And that…that is a privilege inherently mine, no one else’s.”

_I guess I understand why my lack of gratitude aggravates him. I’m alive and in one piece because he killed Gil when he had the chance. Plus…he’d said during his hospital visit that there was a threat of rape made. Declaring my death being his privilege sorta feels like being pissed on by an overly territorial dog, but…I get it._

Her eyes shot to the blue sign they were passing on the righthand side of the road.

** _‘WELCOME TO MAINE. The Way Life Should Be.’ _ **

“Thank you,” she said, relaxing back into the seat. “For saving my life. I…mean it this time.”

She saw him flinch out of the corner of her eye.

_This might be the first time he’s being praised as a savior and not a fiend. A day of new emotions for him to process…if fate is on my side, I won’t sustain any injuries as a result._

“There are other ways for you to express your…thanks,” he remarked, eyeing her with a tilt of the head. “I was thinking-.”

“A thank you is all you’re getting,” she interrupted.

“Spoilsport,” he mumbled.

His tone was thankfully lighter. The thunderstorm had been averted…this time.

In hindsight, she should have been paying more attention to what Joker was doing.

However, entering her home state had her contemplating what she was going to tell her friends and family about him. She didn’t know if he planned to be in his full Joker regalia, face paint and all. She didn’t know how to explain the scars. She’d be at a loss for words if they recognized him.

As Celine was ruminating on all this, Joker gathered all the empty bags he’d gone through (with the exception of one sitting in between his feet), bunched them together until they were one crinkled ball, then tossed them out the window; leaving them to tumble onto the highway.

She only caught on to what he’d done when she noticed a blur of white in the rearview mirror.

“_Dude_,” she scolded. “Why? You could’ve tossed them in the backseat if they were bothering you so much. I’d have thrown them out at the next gas station.”

Joker shrugged, crossing his ankles together.

“Why wait?”

She worked on reeling in her frustration.

“I don’t know how far along in school you got, but we’ve only got one habitable planet in the solar system. _One_. And we’ve not been very good guests to her. You want to upend societal norms? Wreak havoc and dismantle the establishment? Go for it. But you keep that shit up and you’re not going to have a planet to do all that on.”

He snorted.

“I’ll be long dead before I see those consequences come to fruition. And that was _nothing_ compared to the global poisoning of your precious _little_ planet by multi-billion-dollar corporations and fossil fuel industries. So…be a _dear_ and redirect your sentiments to those responsible, hm?”

His apathy dug deep under her skin, but she shouldn’t have expected anything less.

_How do I get through to him that if we can’t save the world on a massive scale, we can at least start locally?_

Her musings were halted by the sudden wail of a siren. Seconds later, red and blue lights were flashing in her rearview mirror.

_Please be after someone else. Please be after someone else._

The State cruiser sped up one car length behind her but made no move to pass.

“Damn it.”

As Celine flicked on her blinker to pull aside, she rapidly relayed some orders to Joker.

“Do not say a word, please. I can’t afford for this to turn into anything more than a ticket.”

_AKA I’m fucked if they check the trunk._

“Don’t antagonize them, don’t give them a reason to use brute force…just…for once in your life…stay quiet.”

He was smirking at her, stroking one of his scars. It’s something she noticed he did when contemplating something.

“No promises,” was all he answered with.

When her car was in park, she swiftly reached over to the glove compartment and removed her driver’s license, insurance, and car registration.

By the time she had straightened up, the police officer had exited his cruiser and was strolling toward her side of the vehicle.

_Just…relax. I’ve been pulled over with items of interest in my vehicle before. The key is to be as agreeable, as nonchalant as possible._

It wasn’t so much the encounter she worried about, but rather her passenger seat companion. He loathed law enforcement more than most and was inclined to rattle them out of a personal pleasure. She hoped to any entity listening that this officer wasn’t one worth the effort of provoking.

“Afternoon ma’am.”

The officer was not much taller than her, which allowed him the luxury of not having to bend over to speak. The nametag on his uniform read _E. Rubin_. Most of his face was hidden away by black aviator glasses. One glance at his impeccable buzzcut and she knew this wasn’t someone to let harmless misdemeanors slide.

“Afternoon, sir,” she answered, offering him a light smile.

“License, registration, and proof of insurance.”

She handed them over, relieved to see her hand wasn’t shaking. That was a good sign.

_Accept the ticket and you’re home free._

He returned to his cruiser to run her license.

“You sure you don’t want my help?” Joker pestered. “I can make this situation turn out very… _favorably_ for you.”

“Favorably for me means unfavorably for someone else.”

“Yeah, your point?”

She stifled a sigh.

“No thank you.”

“One of these days you’re gonna be in a pickle…a real _jam_. When that day comes, I’ll consider helping you…but only if you beg. _On your knees_.”

She made to respond, but the officer was nearly back to her window.

“Everything checks out,” he stated, resting the side of his arm on the hood of her car. “We drop a little something outside about a mile back?”

“Yes, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Error in judgment on my part.”

E. Rubin sniffed.

“The object came out of your passenger side window.”

It was then that E. Rubin did lean down some, focusing his attention for the first time on Joker beside her.

Though the sunglasses clouded his reaction, he gave himself away in other ways. His shoulders barely contained a recoil. His upper lip curled up ever so slightly. His nostrils flared, as if he’d scented something unpleasant.

“Him? No need to be spooked, he just finished up a horror-themed photo shoot,” she explained before his suspicion could transcend to a demand for identification. “For a friend of ours studying film at Dartmouth.”

“Afternoon, _Officer_,” Joker greeted lazily, looking more at ease than he had a right being. “What can we do ya for?”

His playful tone caused E. Rubin to frown.

“Did you deposit garbage out of your window about a mile back?”

“Garbage…garbage…” He was tapping his chin. “Ahh…not that _I_ recall. Like my…_wife_ told ya, she had a wee error in judgment. Susceptible to it every now and again.”

He ruffled her hair.

She was so very, very tempted to smack him.

“But that’s alllll-_right_.” He was now stroking the back of her neck with the side of his thumb. “I’ll be sure to punish her _accordingly_ later this ev-e-_ning_.”

E. Rubin was less than amused with this response.

“Littering in the State of Maine is finable up to $500. I’d re-evaluate your lax attitude.”

Before Joker could stir the pot any further, Celine turned to him.

“_Honey_.” She had to force that one out. “I’m in the wrong, there’s no need to defend me.”

Joker leaned toward her, pouting slightly. His hand behind her moved to stroke her cheek. Both eyes were firmly trained on her mouth.

“But _angel_, I can’t help it. You just…you…drive me…_wild_. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you…_even_ if you’re in the wrong.”

Though his words were an act, her heart couldn’t tell the difference. She could feel it accelerate in speed while melting at the same time.

“That’s kind of you, _darling dear_. But you can’t always fight my battles for me.”

His eyes shot up to hers.

“I can try.”

_This roleplay shouldn’t be turning me on._

She tore her gaze away from his simmering one and instead looked back at the officer.

He was busy scribbling something out on the pad of paper in his hand. Her registration, insurance, and ID were tucked under one armpit.

“I don’t think your…companion understands the gravity of your offense. Let us hope this helps teach him.”

He extended a slip to her. She accepted and flipped it over.

_Son of a fuck._

He’d fined her the full $500.

E. Rubin then extended a second slip of paper to her, causing her brows to furrow.

“Your…_companion_…isn’t wearing a seatbelt.”

She grabbed the second ticket, forcing down a heavy groan.

_$50. Fantastic. He’s not even been awake two hours and I’m $620 lighter. _

One peek at Joker had her re-processing her emotions. All amusement was absent from his expression. His jaw was tightly clenched; eyes narrowed nearly into slits.

_I need to defuse this. Now._

“I apologize for the infractions,” she said, turning back to the officer. “And my husband.”

_Did I just acknowledge that?_

“He had a death in the family recently and has taken it pretty hard. He meant no offense to you.”

A growl got trapped in Joker’s throat.

“If death gives him this much of foul temperament,” E. Rubin remarked. “I’d reconsider your association with him. You strike me as a nice girl. It might not be my place to say this, but you appear like you can do better.”

She didn’t have to look at Joker to know his entire body had stiffened. The emotions vibrating off of him were lethal.

“You’re right,” she said. “It _isn’t_ your place.”

Her stare was stern; expression void of any warmth.

This should have been enough to deter the officer from saying anything further, but instead, it served as an invitation.

“I don’t mean to be pushy, but you’re not much older than my daughter. And if I knew my daughter was shacking up with someone…_something_ that looked straight out of a killer clown slasher flick, I’d offer the same advice to her. Maybe your…companion’s presence keeps people from being direct with you…I’m certainly not afraid to tell it like how it is.”

She knew the officer had just shredded the last slip of patience Joker had.

Which is why the moment his left hand went for his pocket, Celine smoothly grabbed it, slipped her fingers through his, pressed their palms together, and rested their interlocked hands atop his knee.

Joker was fuming so badly he didn’t immediately notice what she’d done. His eyes were lava and E. Rubin the foliage directly in his path. She could feel the strain his muscles were undergoing through his hand alone; which clutched hers so tight it bordered on unbearable.

Her nails dug into his skin once to get his attention.

His eyes shot down to her, then to their interwoven hands.

She wasn’t telepathic by any means, but still did her best to relay what was on her mind.

_I know. I know. Chill for a few seconds and let me handle it._

He met her gaze; scouring her expression.

She offered him the most innocuous nod possible before returning her attention to the officer.

“Officer Rubin is it?” she asked, re-reading his name tag. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like your badge number.”

He was visibly startled by the request, mouth opening and closing a few times.

“Pardon me?”

“Your badge number,” she repeated. “I’d like to write it down and file a formal complaint to the department you’re stationed out of.”

“F-for what purpose?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” she said, offering him a humorless smile. “But, since you were so dedicated to teaching my husband courtesy and respect, I figure we’ll let this be a mutual teaching moment. Firstly, you accused him of throwing those bags out of the window when _I_ admitted to it. Secondly, you’ve done little to mask your disdain for his appearance. A “killer clown from a slasher flick?” I think your superiors might be keen to know you lack the professionalism to deal with a former Afghanistan War veteran. Not only lack the professionalism but went out of your way to demean him for injuries he suffered attempting to protect the soil beneath your feet.”

E. Rubin’s chin quivered. His cheeks were quickly growing flush.

“Lastly, you’ve shown a simply astounding absence of empathy since learning he’s had a close death in the family. Is this how you treat all those mourning a loved one?”

“Ma’a-.”

“Your badge number, Officer Rubin. Please and thank you.”

He swallowed hard before turning to his vehicle.

“And my license, insurance and registration,” she called out, reaching out her hand.

He seemed to have forgotten they were still tucked beneath his armpit. They were hers again in a matter of seconds.

As Officer Rubin made the walk of shame back to his car, she could feel Joker’s grip on her hand lighten just a little. She was tempted to look at him but was more focused on getting this ordeal out of the way as soon as possible.

_Afghanistan War veteran? Where’d that come from? Not that it’s bad necessarily…in fact it would clear up a lot of questions._

When Officer Rubin returned with a slip of paper holding his badge number, Celine internally sighed with relief. Crisis averted.

“Thank you, officer,” she said before flicking on her blinker to merge back onto the highway. “One of your superiors should contact you shortly. Have a _wonderful_ afternoon!”

She left him behind in a whirlwind of dust and sediment.

Joker didn’t say anything for a long while. He also made no move to release her hand. She would catch him gazing at her, then out his window, and then back at her.

For someone who allegedly didn’t care for silence, he sure was content basking in it.

“I’m going to stop at a gas station shortly here to use the bathroom,” she told him. “If you need anything…water, snacks…just let me know. I am planning to hit up Wal-Mart later in the evening once I get settled in at home.”

He still didn’t speak. But he did bring their interlocked hands up to his face and rubbed one of his scarred cheeks against her knuckles.

The sensation wasn’t unpleasant. She gave in to temptation and scanned his expression.

He wasn’t smiling, but something appreciative lurked in his brown eyes. They seemed unable to get enough of her; his palm pressing the back of her hand into his scar until she could feel every ridge and bump.

“You know something I love about you sweets?” he said, leaning toward her as if he was letting her in on the ultimate secret. “Everybody stares at the scars. _Everybody_. And I don’t blame them…after all, you _want_ your artwork to be admired. But they stare and they stare and they stare and they…_stare_. And it’s nothing new I ever see reflected back…always, _always_ repulsion; or some relative of it. But no…no…_not_ you.”

His head tilted down some, fingers around her tightening.

“You _acknowledge_ their existence, then move on. It’s like…like someone noticing eye color or facial hair. Important, but _irrelevant_. You…you get straight to the point. At first, that irritated me. But I’ve come to my senses since then. You don’t see them…you…see…_me_. And I-I _like_ that…_a lot_. ‘S nice to finally talk to someone…_normal_.”

“Normal?” she couldn’t help but answer, arching a brow. “That’s a stretch don’t you think?”

He shook his head.

“No, no it’s _not_. You and I are _normal_. Everyone else…well, they’ve gone berserk! All the world’s a madhouse we’re committed to against our will. You…you are the _first _sane person I’ve found in my residency here.”

Though there was amusement in his expression, she got the impression he was being quite serious.

_He likes that I…see him. Does he realize how profound that is? Is it…is it his soul finding kindred in mine?_

She cleared her throat, unsure of what to say.

“Could I have my hand back please?” she settled on.

“Mm…I dunno, you were in _such_ a rush to hold mine…now that I got it here, not sure I wanna give it up just yet.”

She tried to yank her hand free, but Joker’s grip didn’t budge an inch. He ended up moving their embraced limbs between his thighs, knees clamping around their wrists.

“Jack-.”

“Yes _sweetpea_?”

He was batting his eyelashes at her, tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth.

“Let go.”

“Mmmm…_no_.”

“Let. Go.”

“No-**_pe_**.”

They were doing just shy of 75 on the highway. Traffic was minimal and the only car behind her was at least half a mile back. No police cruisers in sight.

“I’m giving you one last chance.”

“Yeah? Or you’ll _what_? We both know you got teeth, but you’re too afraid to bite dee-.”

Her foot slammed into the breaks. Hard.

Whereas her body jerked before being restrained by her seatbelt, Joker wasn’t afforded the same luxury. His body sailed forward, chest striking the dashboard, followed right after by his forehead.

As soon as a low groan escaped him, she slipped her hand out of his with ease.

When both hands were on the steering wheel, she started to accelerate until they were at a comfy 72.

As Joker clutched his head, he shot her a murderous look.

“Bitch,” he spat.

“It’s Celine actually, but that works too.” Her smile was radiant. “And I fired warning shots, not my fault you didn’t heed them.”

He was fuming silently, glaring venom-tipped daggers at her.

She pulled into a gas station not two minutes later.

“Need anything?”

His glare failed to lessen. It appeared she was being condemned to the silent treatment.

“Water? Soda? Smokes?” She leaned in and sniffed him. “Deodorant?”

His brows twitched slightly at this last suggestion.

“Kidding! You actually smell…nice. Hygienic. What’s the occasion?”

He still didn’t answer.

“Bandages?” she tried. “To cover up your boo-boo’s?”

His lips quaked just the slightest before returning to a deeply-set frown.

“Last chance…going once…going twice…”

“Condoms.”

She froze.

“What?”

“_Condoms_,” he repeated, licking his bottom lip. “Preferably a twelve pack…twenty-four if they go it.”

_Why would he-?_

He was still frowning, but something mischievous swam in his eyes. 

“Um…okay.”

Before exiting her car, she ended up taking out her keys. It’s not that she didn’t trust him…wait…_actually_…that’s exactly what it was. Especially after what she just pulled; she wouldn’t put it past him to drive off while she was still in the station.

Using the bathroom didn’t take long, but her perusal of self in the mirror had her seething just the tiniest bit.

Joker – _kind_ clown that he was – failed to inform her just how much a mess she looked. Bits of twigs and grass were dried into her hair; souvenirs from the ditch she’d tumbled into. She worked at picking them out and then cupping some water into a palm and washing her face clean with a paper towel. Truly, it was a miracle the police officer earlier hadn’t interrogated her longer.

Three minutes later and she was standing in the medicine aisle of the store, eyes zig-zagging between her only two options.

**Trojan Magnum XL**

**LifeStyles Snugger Fit**

The Trojan was for men with more…_endowed_ appendages. The LifeStyles were for average size.

_Yikes…do I boost his ego or knock him off his high horse? _

Without meaning to, her thoughts returned to the night he’d broken free of his handcuffs and slipped into bed with her. She’d been so enthralled with the pleasure he was inflicting she’d not given much thought to how generous or non-generous his dick was, grinding into her.

_It was definitely a full package …you’d pay extra shipping and handling to get that delivered. Not just lengthy, but healthy girth too-._

She swiped at the back of her neck, dismayed to find she’d been perspiring a bit.

_He definitely dished out some psychological warfare by having me buy these._

Unwilling to linger longer than needed on the cock size of her companion, she ended up grabbing one of each and paying for them both.

The Trojan Magnum XL ones…those she pocketed away from view. Handing those over would make him victorious in this little battle. He’d know just how seriously she considered his size and accuse her of projecting her own desires onto him. That simply wouldn’t do. She was content to let him assume she thought him average.

Joker was picking crud out from beneath his fingernails with his sharpest knife when she got into the driver’s seat. He barely spared her a glance, eyes narrowed in on some dirt at the corner of his ring finger that just wouldn’t come out.

She tossed the LifeStyles condom pack onto his lap.

“Six was the most they came in,” she said, putting on her seatbelt. “And sorry…they didn’t have anything smaller.”

All his movements ceased. His eyes dropped down to the package.

She started the engine, doing her best to fight off a smile.

It was only when they were back on the road again that he spoke.

“Only one way to know for sure if these’ll…_suffice_.”

His hands went to the button of his pants, two fingers grabbing onto the zipper.

Her eyes widened.

“Don’t you dare.”

He slid the zipper down and unbuttoned his pants.

“Jack…”

“This is where assumptions lead you, sweets,” he practically sang, leaning up a little to slide his pants down to his thighs. “If you need the proof, I’m happy to provide it.”

And he was. The satisfaction in his voice could hardly be contained.

_Shit. Figures he’d be shameless enough to do this._

“I don’t need the proof,” she promised. “Please don’t expose yourself in my car. Please.”

He peered at her, eyes twinkling.

“Now, now, where are our manners. You forgot to add ‘pretty’.”

_I’m going to have an aneurysm._

“_Pretty_ please…do not expose yourself.”

“Hmm…” He palmed his crotch once, causing her to blush furiously. “Perhaps we can work out an…arrange-**_ment_**.”

She eyed him nervously.

“What kind of arrangement?”

“_Wellllll,_ for one, gimme back that hand you so _violently_ stole.”

_Is he serious?_

As a means of emphasis, he extended his palm toward her, watching her expectantly.

Swallowing tightly, she lowered her right hand into his.

“Excellent,” he commended, nearly bouncing in his seat. “I like a gal that can take directions.”

“Don’t push it,” she mumbled.

His grin was growing wider by the second.

“I won’t lie…assuming I’m anything _less_ than average wounds me.”

_Fatally, I hope._

“What the _hell_ are you doing?!”

He had tightened his grip on her and slowly but surely lowered her hand down to his crotch.

“Think it’s ah best you feel for yourself what you’re dealing with. That-a way, there won’t be any further _misunderstandings_ on what size to buy.”

Her brain had gone blank. Impressive, considering it chugged any chance it got.

Joker removed his grip from her and relocated it to wrap around her wrist. A gasp got caught in her throat as he pressed her half-open hand into his boxer-clad cock. Boxers that may or may not have been the color of festive red wrapping paper with a green mistletoe dangling directly above his…_present_.

She refused to look at him, cheeks giving the sun above a run for its money.

“Feel free to squeeze or fondle or…_stroke_ until you deem the evidence acc-_urate_.”

His cock stirred to life as her fingers unconsciously tightened around him. It didn’t take long for it to inflate into a semi-erect state.

He felt heavy against her…firm and…_thick_. She’d been right in her recollections, he had some girth to him. Ever so slowly, her fingers trailed further south; slipping beneath his pants until most of her hand was hidden from view.

His cock twitched and throbbed beneath her attentions, becoming stiffer and stiffer until he was fully hard; adding an inch and a half to an already impressive length.

_Both a grower and a shower, just my luck!_

She didn’t know at what point she started gently stroking him up and down. Though her gaze was focused ahead, her hand seemingly had a will of its own. She blamed it all on the condoms. They opened a Pandora’s box of repressed sexual urges. And Joker’s responsiveness to her ministrations…it spiked her confidence in a most unforeseen way.

It was only when Joker tried suppressing a low moan that she looked over and realized he was no longer holding on to her wrist. Both hands were locked behind his head. This handjob was all her and her alone.

She abruptly removed her hand, brushed it once against her knee before bringing it up to the steering wheel.

Joker released a sound between a giggle and a disappointed sigh.

“You were ah _really_ getting into it there, weren’t ya?” he gloated. “Not that I’m complaining…nice to _ah_ finally have the real thing.”

She didn’t think a part of her face remained that wasn’t red. His comments weren’t helping any.

“Consider it a learning lesson, sweets! _Nothing_ about me is average.”

He was slowly rearranging his stiff cock so he could zip up his pants. She remembered the Trojans in her pocket and took them out. When he finally had buttoned himself up, she tossed them onto his lap.

His laughter was immediate and didn’t waver for a full minute.

“Oooo hooo hooo!” he whooped. “Naughty, _naughty_ girl. Toying with my feelings just cos you can. I’m rubbing off on ya aren’t I?”

She maintained her silence.

“Or I ah guess _you_ were doing the rubbing.”

He re-descended into a fit of giggles.

Celine tried focusing on her exterior environment. They still had three hours to go before reaching Calgary Cliff. Her largest obstacle at the current moment was not strangling her companion before they got there.

_No more sexually charged conversations. Period. If it gets sexy…change the subject. And keep your limbs on your person from now on. They are deadly in his hands. _

She repeated this to herself until she felt some semblance of calm over the situation.


	26. Chapter 26

“Soooo…” Joker elongated, hanging an arm out of his window. “We uh gonna discuss the little goody bag you got in your trunk?”

The last half hour had been passed in near silence, with the exception of Joker’s phone buzzing. Firstly, with a call he accepted. Whatever the individual was relaying caused him to answer with a few “mhm’s” and throaty “yes’s”. Then, the text alerts began. He would read them, tap his phone against his knee a few times before turning off the screen, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. She didn’t think he was attempting to nap…something was on his mind relating to the texts he was receiving. She didn’t bother asking; still a little hot under the collar from her unintentional handjob.

When he suddenly mentioned the items in her trunk, she tried not to seem too surprised.

“How?”

“Popped it open when you were in the bathroom. So, _so_ nervous about that officer…figured there was something you weren’t sharing with the class.”

She offered him a half shrug.

“What about it?”

“There a _ah_ special occasion I should know about? We hosting a party? Need a _clown_ for it?”

“No special occasion, no party…and no need for a clown,” she assured. “It’s sort of become a…ritual. The past five years I’ve been taking a quarter of bud and a quarter of mushrooms with me. I trip, I smoke, I play in the sand, I explore the woods in my backyard…I can do all those things without drugs yes, and I do…but they certainly enhance those experiences. And quite often I end up on a bit of a…quest I guess. I-have you ever done psychedelics before?”

“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”

His attention was wholly devoted to her now. She could tell his fascination had been piqued.

“Everyone’s tripping experience is different,” she began. “The two keys to an amazing trip are environment and mental state. Ideally you want a clean environment…one you feel comfortable in. Light some candles, turn on some soothing music, have some blankets to curl into if you have to. I know my home and the surrounding area like the back of my hand. It’s a relief – especially when you’re really riding the peak – to be somewhere you feel like you belong.”

She paused to see if he had anything to input, but he remained quiet; occasionally lapping at his scars.

“Mentally…mentally you’ve gotta be in a good place. You have to have a… relationship with yourself. Because let me tell you…things get very dark, very painful real quickly if you’ve got things lurking in your subconscious you’re not comfortable addressing. This doesn’t mean you have to be a happy-go-lucky person…some of my best trips were during the worst of my depression. I figured things out in that state that have influenced me to this day. I…I’m not sure how to describe it. But if you’ve been feeling like shit, if there are conversations with yourself you’ve intentionally avoided having …psychedelics can bring that to the forefront. That’s where tripping can turn into a traumatizing experience. You’ll do anything not to be in that state anymore.”

“Hmm…sorta playing with fire, isn’t it?”

“It is,” she agreed. “Which is why personally I prefer magic mushrooms to LSD. They’re much more organic…easier to ride the directions the trip takes you. That’s another key to a good trip…surrendering. Letting it guide you…you have no control over the trip, not really. You can influence it, but it is its own beast. Trying to dig your heels in…trying to navigate it in a certain direction…can often times make things ten times worse.”

“How ah how many times have you tripped? And on what substances?”

He was making no attempt at humor. No sly remark. It almost made her wonder if taking them was something he’d considered at some point, but never made the effort of following through with it.

_He would not like them. His demons are many…they would eat him alive. _

“Somewhere close to fifty times,” she guessed. “Sometimes at parties, sometimes with close friends, but usually on my own. LSD was my first introduction to psychedelics…then magic mushrooms…and for a few years I alternated between the two. Then, a friend got their hands on some peyote and ayahuasca when they were out West. Both experiences were outstanding…though the ayahuasca…forewarning, lots of vomiting involved. Worth it…but it’s a nausea unrivaled to anything else.”

“Huh.” He was eying her with a tilt of the head. “Tried ah finding an article you and _Crow_ wrote on _altered_ states of consciousness. Any correlation between your use and that piece?”

“We tripped together actually,” she admitted. “A few months before he introduced himself to Gotham as Scarecrow. That trip inspired the article. Before it, he was fascinated by my experiences…and…was _inspired_ to fine-tune his serum. He took a tab of acid just as the sun was coming out. I waited to take mine so I could trip sit him for a while.”

“Trip _sit_?”

“Yeah….like…a trip sitter. The equivalent of a babysitter, but they take care of you during your trip, especially if it gets bad. Help reassure you; help keep you hydrated and fed. I don’t have the words to describe how awful a bad trip feels…and I wanted to spare John that feeling anyway possible. Thankfully, he took to it well. At the time he had this luxury apartment near Gotham Park with a fantastic view of the treetops. His goal was to sort of…self-document his experience, much like Aldous Huxley did.” She paused for breath, seemingly unable to halt her onslaught of passion for the subject. “Huxley is the author of one of my favorite books – _The Doors of Perception_ – about his first time on mescaline. It’s also the book that inspired Jim Morrison to name their band The Doors.”

“Knew that,” he mentioned with a nod. “I’ll give it to Huxley in one regard… _Brave New World_ confirms the importance…_no_, the _need_ for someone like me. We’re all living in the same house you see…and most of us are asleep like good little kiddies while mom and pop are running things…sleeping so soundly we don’t even realize mom and pop set fire to the house. Now a few of us…we see the house burning…and it’s only fair isn’t it…to try and…wake people _up_.”

She silently considered the metaphor. Did he see himself as a hero in this scenario?

“Why not put your focus on extinguishing the fire?”

“Because the house.” His index fingers outlined an imaginary square. “_Isn’t_ worth preserving. Its very foundation is built on keeping those inside it under control…but they don’t let you in on that_…_offer you the illusion of freedom because they know…they know if enough people are aware they’re being con-_fined_ they’ll come together to burn the house down themselves. I choose the route of defibrillation…shock ‘em until they see things the way I do. There’s nothing to gain letting the kiddies continue sleeping, secure in their ignorance.”

“You…actually want people to wake up?” Her brows showcased her skepticism. “You strike me more as someone who would shoot people in their sleep just because you can.”

“_Heh heh _well_…_ya got me there…I can’t deny I’ve an affinity for using some of them as target practice. Not gonna wake up after I took the time to yell your name? Fine…you won’t wake up _period_.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But I’ve found people are much more fun to play with when they’re awake. You and I might-ah go about two different ways introducing them to reality but make no mistake…our goal is mutual.”

His beliefs had her recalling the first time she’d read Plato’s _Allegory of the Cave_ in high school. Back then she’d despised the underlying theme of the essay. Why was it her responsibility to lead others into the light? If she made it out of the cave, that’s all that mattered. Self-preservation was ultimately more important. Going back was counterproductive, especially if those in the cave were content with imprisonment. Joker really nailed it with his ‘illusion of freedom’ comment.

Flash forward nearly four years later and she read the essay again. And finally…finally she _got it_. Seeing the world as it was…so very few were afforded that luxury. And though the luxury didn’t come without its share of unpleasantries and isolation, it beat living under the cloud of self-deception.

Only in taking the leap and stepping out of your cell can you see it for the prison it is.

Joker’s desire for anarchy wasn’t as self-serving as she assumed it was. It was and it wasn’t. His goal was noble, but his reasoning wasn’t. And his methods to wake others up was far from gentle. He took a perverse pleasure in making the experience as disorienting for them as possible.

_The reality check he got when he was young…it had to have been brutal. Wasn’t so much guided out of the cave by a patient hand as much as shoved or kicked or thrown…and…if the pain of that is left unchecked…you will end up teaching others the same way you were taught. _

She inhaled deeply; slightly overwhelmed at what he’d just revealed about himself.

_He didn’t take the first shot. Someone or something shot first. As Agatha said, no one builds armor without having been pierced first. And Jack…_

A terrible ache bloomed in her chest. Though no tears were present, some core part of her longed to weep. Weep for the boy who grew up in an environment that failed to teach him forgiveness, failed to assist him in processing trauma and negative emotions; an environment that pushed an already sensitive, _brilliant_ child to throw up his guard so high even he didn’t know how to lower it; much less want to.

Jack had been robbed. And to see so many others still sleeping blissfully…from his viewpoint how could he not want to rob them right back?

“-anyway.” She tuned back in upon realizing he was still talking. “That’s the only one I liked from Huxley. His works like _Doors of Perception_ aren’t ah exactly my sip of apple cider.”

She quickly composed herself.

“How’s that?”

“Didn’t wanna read about imaginings. Hallucinations. Mad _rambles_. Things you can just as easily hear from a stroll through the schizo ward at Arkham.”

“The experiences aren’t the same.”

“Might not be, but I’m a man of tangibility. The sober state free of any exterior influences, like that of your magic-”. He threw up quotations signs. “-mushrooms…that is the only one worth experiencing anything from.”

They met each other’s eyes.

“But…you knew who Lester Heilig was.”

“Doesn’t mean I read his essays. When it comes to metaphysics, he’s not a point of view I take seriously. Too much emphasis on…_love_. Love this, love that- it’s a chemical reaction, nothing more! Not as grand or universal as you or he believe it to be.”

“Needing your experiences to be tangible in order for them to be real…is that how you currently feel?” she asked. “Or how you used to feel?”

“Mm…can’t say. The knowledge and admiration you have for your extracurricular activity is certainly…_persuasive_. But ya also spent most of last evening inside a shop for kooks and nut cases. Not sure what to take your word on.”

She nodded, at peace with his skepticism. She’d been there once before too.

“Well…it’s up to the individual to decide I suppose,” she said. “You won’t know until you’re experiencing the trip how much of it is artificial and propagated by the drug and how much of it is a more…amplified way of thinking.”

“Care to share some of your goodies then? So I can know what all the fuss is about?”

“_No_.” She looked at him. “Not for a lack of wanting to…its just that…you’ve got a lot of…mental baggage. I know this without needing to ask. It would not be a pleasant experience for you.”

“Why-ah not trip sit me like you did Crow?”

He almost sounded insulted at his exclusion from the activity.

“Because…I don’t know that I could pull you out of where you end up going. I’ve never trip sitted anyone like you before…someone who has so much darkness in their soul. It’s not a position I want to put either of us in…if I can help it.”

“Being a little dramatic, don’t ya think?”

“Cautious,” she corrected. “I know what resides in you.”

She’d not meant it as a slight against him. The state of his soul was imprinted into her mind; a sphere of black tar emitting and drawing in negative vibrations. He might very well go insane…_truly insane_…upon glimpsing it.

Joker didn’t appear all that impressed with this commentary.

“You _think_ you know me better than I know myself?”

His right knee started to bounce as he pinned her in place with a glare.

_Yes. A version of you at least. _

“No,” she lied. “I’m sorry if it came across that way.”

He must have been itching for an argument because her apology had him grumbling something under his breath.

“If you want,” she followed up, “you’re welcome to take some. I’ll advise you against it, but I won’t stop you.”

He digested this, tracing one of his scarred cheeks.

“And when _uh_ are you planning to take yours?”

“Tomorrow probably. Forecast called for zero percent chance of rain and low humidity. The perfect summer day.”

“And what happens if your trip goes _south_? Gonna rely on me to pull ya out? Not even sure I’d want to…you’re a tough nut…and I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t be curious to see ya…_crack_.”

“I’ve worked myself out of a bad trip before,” she returned, thinking back to two years ago when she’d encountered an extremely emaciated fox trapped in a thorn bush on one of her treks through the woods. “It’s not always easy, but I have self-affirmations I repeat to myself. I know what to divert my inner monologue to. Also, I carry a little pocket mirror on me. Sometimes you feel so isolated and trapped by the weight of your bad feelings you forget you’re human…you’re in a physical body…you’re here on this planet- living, breathing, experiencing, enjoying. Talking to yourself…your physical vessel…helps a lot.”

She offered him a scan.

“And I’d actually prefer you weren’t there. I might regret making this offer, but…you’re welcome to take my car for the day. Though…I will file a police report if it’s not returned in twenty-four hours. Also, my uncles are hunters…we’ll find you one way or another.”

He snorted, half in response to her threat, half in response to her suggestion.

“You really think I’m gonna miss the opportunity to see ya off your rocker?” He shook his head vigorously. “How many times are ya gonna make me repeat it? I’m _yours_, sweets. For the next six and a half days. The next hundred and fifty-six hours. The next nine-thousand-.”

There was a moment of silence as he glanced up.

“-three hundred and sixty minutes. The next-.”

“I got it,” she confirmed. “I’m paper, you’re glue. There is no escaping you.”

_Hey, that rhymed!_

“That rhymed,” came his appreciative mumble not a second later.

“It did,” she agreed, not sure why them both noticing this made her smile lopsidedly.

He was quiet for a few minutes.

“We uh got much further to go?”

“A little over two hours,” she estimated. “I’m located pretty high up along the coastline. Feel free to catch some rest, that couldn’t have been comfortable sleeping behind my seat.”

“Mmmm… I’d_ rather not_.” He gulped down a yawn. “I shut my eyes; you’ll be tempted to send me flying through the windshield.”

“That temptation exists whether you’re awake or asleep for it.”

He gave her a pointed look. She did her best to smother her mirth.

Neither spoke for the next little while. Celine’s attention returned to the rapidly shifting scenery outside her car. With both windows down she was catching whiffs of salt from the ocean.

_I’m very nearly there. What a strange, unusual reunion this is going to be._

She turned to Joker with the intention to ask if he was much of a swimmer but found that he’d dozed off sometime during her musings; skull lodged between the headrest and the interior of the car door. Both arms and ankles were crossed. His mouth was hung open a little and a few throaty snores were traveling out of him. This clown was pooped, and she didn’t dare disturb him.

She did however sneak her cell phone out of her center console and discretely snapped a few photos of him. Catching him in states of docility was becoming a weakness of hers. And it was nice to have physical evidence on hand that he was more than just a mania-driven, anarchy-inducing, bloodthirsty killer. He might not think it was nice, but she did.

Sliding her phone back into the console, Celine leaned back and relaxed. The wind was on a dedicated mission to turn her strands into a tornado. The salt tickled her nostrils. Through patches of Eastern White Pines guarding the right side of the road she was very nearly able to make out a frosty blue coastline.

_This IS going to be a good week. I claim this truth. I send it into the universe and await its manifestation. And Jack …I don’t know what he’s seeking on this trip…I don’t know if he knows what he’s seeking…I don’t know if I can help him…but…I will make the effort. So long as I try, I can’t fail. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the 22nd of July! Help wish Celine a happy birthday before Joker steals her away to celebrate more...privately.


	27. Chapter 27

The house Celine grew up in rested on one of the numerous tree-concealed lots at the top of a system of cliffs overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. It’d been constructed in the late 1960s by her grandfather – Joachim Harlow - with the intention of being a home to retire to with his wife after their kids had all married and settled down. Unfortunately, he never got around to moving in; a massive heart attack cutting his intentions short. In his will, he left the property to be shared amongst his four children- Lucien, June, Reed, and Nora.

For quite a number of years, the cottage-style beach house remained untouched. Despite the jaw-dropping scenery and close proximity to the ocean, no one wanted to reside in the bones of their father’s dream house. In their minds, it wasn’t theirs, it was his, even if he was long gone.

It was only when the oldest of the siblings – Lucien and June – married and had children of their own that the house slowly became the epicenter for week-long vacations during the spring, summer, and autumn months. And Lucien being as handy as he was, gradually updated and renovated that which fell susceptible to time, and erosion (courtesy of some wicked, wicked storms).

The house’s transition from a place of vacation to a place of residence occurred between the years 1978 and 1979 when one jobless and broke Nora Harlow learned she was pregnant. She’d been reassured by her boyfriend at the time that once the pregnancy was completed, they would move their way inland toward Bangor and find an affordable apartment to start their family in. Unfortunately for her, he left town a month before she was expected to deliver, and she never saw or heard from him again.

Thankfully, Nora was not unloved. Her siblings rallied together when she needed them most and decided Celine would be raised not only near family, but a place that could really give her a special childhood. Thus, their grandfather’s treasured retirement home became Nora and Celine’s.

“Pretty _secluded_ up here. Got any neighbors nearby?”

She jumped a little, not realizing he’d woken up the moment her tires had hit the unpaved driveway weaving up to the house.

“I think the closest are two miles north,” she answered, thumbs tapping rhythmically against the steering wheel. “We’re basically on our own up here. The woods on the west side of the property stretch maybe…fifty acres?”

When he didn’t follow this up with anything, she glanced his way.

“Why? Scouting out potential dumping spots for my body?”

His grin was wolfish.

“No no…not on the agenda…_yet_. Might-ah surprise you to learn, but I’m a guy that values his privacy. Not a fan of people poking their noses where they _don’t_ belong.”

She nodded at the response. That appeared to be something else they had in common. The inherent love for privacy. After all, they were rather unusual themselves. It was only fair they had a space free of prying eyes, to be as weird and unusual as they wanted.

Joker was quiet for the last half mile leading up to the house, scanning his environment through narrowed lids, one knee bouncing up and down. Her reassurance of absolute privacy did little to keep him from taking note of what was where and any potential routes leading to and from the house. It made her consider just how excellent of a game hunter he could be. Quiet when the moment required it, perceptive, constantly weighing out his options, lethal with a rifle.

“Did you want to rest a little bit inside?” she asked, pulling up to the detached garage.

His eyes were on her instantly.

“Mmm…_depends_. Where are you gonna be?”

Again, his consideration puzzled her. But unlike the last time, she chose not to showcase it on her face.

“Honestly?” She threw the car in park and turned the ignition off. “I’m heading down to the beach. The Atlantic and I…we’ve been parted for far too long.”

When he didn’t respond to this, she opened her car door and stepped out.

The first thing she did was raise her arms up and stretch. Nearly eight hours in the car had her muscles stiff and slightly numb. 

_Did something just pop? Sheesh I am getting old._

Earlier in the day the temperature, _with humidity_, made it feel like a sweltering 95. Now at just a minute past six in the evening it’d descended to a manageable 77. Though slightly overcast, it wasn’t so bad as to keep the sun hidden for long. The breeze wafting across the Atlantic normally helped keep the weather tolerable, but a heatwave was passing through Maine and she just happened to be there at its tail end.

Roughly twenty yards to her left was the house, but her focus was on the cliffs to her right. They loomed an imposing sixty feet above the sandy, wave-swept shores beneath them. She still hadn’t a clue how it is her grandfather managed to engineer a wooden, railed-in staircase against the cliff; supported by four massive beams. The task had to have required quite a bit of manpower and patience for the coast’s ever-turbulent climate.

Thankfully, her Uncle Lucien took to examining the beams and stairs each spring after a heavy winter to ensure the structure hadn’t rotted or become unstable. A few updates had been made over the years to ensure no accident could occur to adult or child.

She approached the edge of the cliff where the stairs began; gaze sweeping over the Atlantic. From a distance the ocean appeared almost a light green due to the plant life and algae blooming in the area. Upon a closer inspection, however, she knew the green would give way to a near-indigo color.

Her feet carried her to the first step and from there she began making her way downward, palms brushing along the cobwebbed rails on either side of her.

The rails had been constructed from a weather-resistant type of cedar, bearing the markings of various pocketknives and switchblades. Back on her 18th birthday she’d had her closest friends over for a weekend long bash. Before they left Sunday evening, they’d each carved their names as well as the date and year into a part of the structure in commemoration of the adventures they’d shared. And those were just _one_ of numerous souvenirs lining the rail. Cousins, aunts, uncles, extended relatives, good friends…each had at one point or another left their mark behind. Running her fingertips along the engravings brought back some of her favorite, most beloved memories. The structure was by all means a relic…a time capsule of the past four decades.

The stairs within the rails extended ten steps before zig zagging in the opposite direction with ten more steps and so on and so forth until you reached the shore at the bottom.

The breeze was lukewarm against her face and the waves weren’t rising any taller than a foot. She closed her eyes as she walked; letting muscle memory guide her.

On countless occasions she considered setting up some sort of high-end recording device on the shore to record the various soundscapes throughout the day. Very few things were as soothing as laying back in the sand, closing your eyes, and listening to the crash of waves against the shoreline as gulls chirped above. Or when a storm was coming through and the wind suddenly picked up speed, whistling through the cliffs and trees as thunder reverberated in the distance. On particularly misty evenings, it wasn’t unusual for a ship from a local lighthouse to be navigating the waters and throwing on its foghorn to warn other passing ships that there were cliffs nearby. Its grumble was low and soothing, especially if there was a fire crackling in the brick-lined firepit on the beach.

With only touch and sound to steer her, she was somewhat overwhelmed by how much she had missed this place. Perhaps more intensely this time around because the past two months had been defined by chaos and uncertainty. And so much had changed in the near year she’d been away: absent a finger, down a best friend, interiorly well-rattled, united with her soulmate…she wouldn’t consider her life to be normal, but being back home again…it was the closest to it she could experience. Normal _really_ didn’t sound half bad right then.

When her sandals finally landed on the bottom step, she slipped out of them and opened her eyes. Venturing a few steps forward, she let her toes sink into the toasty sand until they encountered coolness below the surface. Her body slackened at the sensation.

On either side of her the beach extended roughly a half mile; the cliffs behind her caving the sand in like they were lumbering guards. Depending on the severity of the winter, the length of the shore fluctuated. Some summers you needed to walk nearly fifty feet out before encountering water. Some summers you had maybe twenty feet at your disposal before the waves moistened your toes.

This year it appeared to be a healthy mix between the two. Personally, Celine was a sucker for a longer walk to the water. A few summers back a little family get-together was thrown at the house and everyone under the age of thirty participated in a sandcastle-off. They all got a section of the beach and had an hour to create the most elaborate, eye-catching structure they could with saltwater, seaweed, twigs, seashells, rocks, and any other debris that just happened to wash up.

Her cousin Marc, a recent graduate from a college in Maryland specializing in architectural design, easily had everyone beat. He ended up recreating an intricate fort from South Carolina that’d been standing since the days of the American Revolution. It’d been so impressive that everyone else immediately conceded him the victory.

She smiled at the memory, inching a few feet forward.

“I’m home,” she whispered to herself.

Her spine tingled in response.

_I think we can do better than that._

Cupping both hands around her mouth, she shouted, “I’M HOME! I’M HOOOOOOME!”

Her arms shot into the air, wind suddenly picking up speed as if it deemed her yell a challenge. By the time it had regressed back to a breeze, her eyes were bright, her cheeks flush, and her hair more tangled than before. She giggled to herself, plopping down on her butt.

For a couple of minutes, she did nothing but bask beneath the sun, fingers rubbing sand along what part of her legs were exposed until they created a delicious friction. With a deep exhale, she dropped onto her back and extended both arms and legs; closing her eyes. Slowly at first, she began moving her limbs up and down; creating the shallowest impression of what she deemed ‘sand angels’. Then, her movements started to speed up until both arms and legs were depressed a few inches into the ground.

The sun continued beaming down on her, waves rolling gently against the cliffs.

_Maybe if I can’t swim this summer, I can at least convince Uncle Reed to part with one of his kayaks for the week. It’d have to be a day where the wind is in my favor. Last thing I need is to end up in Nova Scotia. Apologetic nature aside, I’m too foul-mouthed to make it is a Canadian. _

The sun abruptly disappeared. One eye slid open.

Joker was staring down at her with a slight cock of the head. Though his expression was neutral, his eyes took note of all her movements and facial responses. It was clear this was a version of her he’d not yet been formally introduced to…this carefree summer-child who bellowed her excitement about being home at the top of her lungs.

“Hi,” she greeted with one crinkled eye.

His nod was discrete, almost on the verge of reluctant.

Encircling his green hair and highlighting the dark natural blonde not entirely expunged was a halo of bright yellow. She didn’t _dare_ mention how ethereal he looked.

_This isn’t an environment I ever thought I’d glimpse him in. Take him out of the gloom and industrial skyscrapers of Gotham and he looks…lost…on edge. I…need to get him to relax. Immerse him in this moment. _

“Lay down,” she suggested, patting the spot beside her. “Make sand angels with me.”

When he continued standing, she closed her eye and resumed burrowing herself further into the sand.

Not two minutes passed before she sensed Joker lowering himself next to her. Initially, all he did was sit, legs splayed, hands sinking into the sand on either side of him, studying his surroundings closely. As if he was anticipating a threat.

But when no threat arrived – other than a particularly rough smack of water against coastline – Joker slowly lowered himself onto his back.

Not wishing to disrupt the promising moment, Celine kept to herself; fingers digging into the sand until it made a home beneath her fingernails.

She heard the shifting of fabric and then the faintest brush of a finger. This movement was repeated. Some sand landed on her wrist.

_He’s…doing it. He’s making sand angels! Or would they be clown angels? Sand clowns? _

A smile crept onto her lips. She yearned to savor the moment for as long as she could.

Beside her, Joker let his arms and legs do the thinking for him. Seconds later and he’d christened himself with some pretty impressive wings.

Celine began to softly hum “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” by the Beach Boys. It was only after making it through the first chorus that she glanced at her companion.

“Sorry,” she mentioned. “Probably not a Beach Boys fan? I-their music makes me feel good…and I feel _good_… in this moment.”

Their eyes met and briefly, her throat constricted; denying passage to any word or thought seeking to get through.

Staring back at her was…_Jack_.

The alteration in him was imperceptible; had she not been peering at him as intently as she was, she’d have missed it. But he _was_ there, lingering at the entrance of his pupils; irises vacant of any malice or patronization; viewing her nakedly, _openly_. One foot was hovering in the air; craving to step outside into the sunlight with her for the first time in decades. Her soul was nearly pulsating in contentment upon bearing witness to this, so very compelled to cross the mere inches separating them and ghost her lips against his dry ones. It was taking a great deal of strength not to lean forward.

Alas, the moment was fleeting. Almost as if the Jack that had become Joker realized someone was staring at her who shouldn’t have been…one blink of the eyes and _poof!_ he was gone. Shoved back inside and tossed down the basement stairs, the door leading to him locked and bolted. Guard up.

She dared not mention what Joker knew she perceived. That he came out – however temporary – was very encouraging.

“How old were you when you had your first existential crisis?”

His brows pinched together at the question. He had been banking on her mentioning the moment they’d just shared. That she didn’t had his jaw easing just the slightest.

“Can’t say,” he answered. “It was a _long_ time ago.”

“My first one was sometime around age nine,” she said. “And I don’t know about you, but it lasted all throughout my teenage years. I…used to beat myself all the time. There was so much unexplainable suffering happening in the world…so many injustices being done…I felt not only powerless to stop it all, but guilty that I was alive and in good physical health while so many others lacked access to the privileges I had. It made enjoying days like this so, so difficult.”

She cupped some sand in her palm and let it trickle out between her fingers.

“Looking back on it now,” she mused, “I think…there are days that _have_ to happen to you. And those days…if you can work through them…come out a more realized, honest self…then moments like these can be more aptly appreciated. You’ll take nothing for granted because you didn’t always see the world this way, and you’re so…_relieved_ that you finally do.”

A handful of gulls chose that moment to squawk their agreement. She briefly tried to locate them, but they were out of eye range.

“Mm…you wanna know what I think?”

His low tone was soothing, but there was an inflection to it that had her mildly suspicious.

“Sure.”

In a series of movements too quick to prevent, he shot up to his butt, buried both hands into the sand between them and proceeded to dump all that’d accumulated in his palms directly onto her.

She jerked, coughing slightly as some grains got lodged in her throat. Having gotten the advantage, Joker was now on his knees, shoveling his hands into the shore beneath him and splattering her with bucket-fulls of sand.

“Asshole!” she griped through her teeth, attempting to push herself up against his onslaught. “This is why you’re single!”

He chortled loudly at that; pausing briefly in his assault.

“_For now_,” was his sly response.

Before he could resume burying her, she jolted up to her knees via an elbow and proceeded to throw her entire weight into Joker’s torso. Sufficiently taken off guard, she managed to propel them both onto his back. Sadly, her companion’s reflexes were lightning quick.

He slid an arm around her waist and rolled them over. Not to be outdone, Celine grasped at his vest with both hands and with a combined effort from her hips and thighs flipped them over so he was on his back again.

They continued trying to gain the upper hand on each other; steamrolling all sand and seashells in their path; until Joker had Celine pinned at the very edge of the coast where the waves extended just enough to dampen the very tips of her hair.

She was panting hard beneath him; unable to hold back a lopsided smile as he skimmed his hands along her forearms before interlocking them with her fingers. Sadly, he wasn’t nearly as winded as her.

His strands of green threatened to obscure her from view; so, he leaned down until the tips of his locks were curtained around her pink cheeks. Though he did little to ease his weight off of her, somehow, she didn’t mind it, too enamored with the deviousness gleaming in his eyes.

“You are a disrupter of peace,” she declared in between inhales. “A killer of moods. A thief of serenity.”

“Mmmm…my girl’s such a flatterer,” he purred, grazing his nose along the curve of her jaw. “What _ah_ else am I?”

“A scoundrel, a scalawag, a good for nothing-.”

His tongue slipped into her mouth before she could continue “complimenting” him. The grip around her fingers tightened as he angled his mouth to delve his tongue in deeper, a moan emanating from his chest as she swirled her tongue around his and rolled her hips up into the stiffening cock pressing into her stomach.

Were they back in Gotham, she would have cut their activity short and found a way to worm her way out of the kiss. In that environment it was all too easy to remember who it was she was kissing.

But with the waves echoing in her ears, the gulls soaring to and from above, and the heat that’d seemingly entrapped them into the same cocoon, breaking the kiss was the furthest from her mind.

_Don’t think, just…be._

He removed one hand from hers and tangled it into her hair; grabbing a firm hold of her roots so he could hold her in place. She mewled at the scraping of teeth along her bottom lip, legs breaking free from beneath his shins and coming to wrap around his waist, tugging him closer into her.

He eagerly ground himself into her core, tongue sinking back into the warmth of her mouth; content to play a lazy game of ‘tag-you’re-it!’

Only when oxygen became an essential need did she pry her mouth away from his, tilting her head to the side to catch her breath. Joker wasn’t dissuaded by any means. He peppered her jawline with a series of wet, sloppy kisses, some of which were followed up by a harsh nip…as if to leave evidence on the flesh he’d plundered. It wasn’t until he sucked in her pulse point with teeth that she threaded her free hand into his hair and pulled him back.

“Easy there, Casanova,” she sounded out, chest rising and falling. “Uranium might be your favorite element, but oxygen is mine.”

“_Casanova_?” he repeated, observing her through hooded lids. “Heat’s getting to ya.”

_No, _she longed to say. _You are every bit as handsome as I just alluded to…had I the breath, I would lick and kiss your scars until you came in your boxers. _

She refrained, not wanting to push it. If Joker caught her getting sentimental the moment might blow up in her face.

“It might be,” she said. “Mind giving me some breathing room?”

He lifted his upper torso off her, resting his weight on both palms located on either side of her head. His gaze was a mix of fondness and triumph. As if she were a prize long denied to him and caging her in against him and the earth was the only way to ensure she didn’t evade him once more.

A glint from beside her briefly caught his attention. He snatched up the object buried halfway into the sand. It’d slipped off of her during their tussle.

Her intake of breath was subtle. In his hand was Sally; blade – _to her relief_ \- tucked in. Still, it did little to squelch the simmering tension in her gut.

Joker moved back to sit on her waist, examining his old friend with a cock of the head. He flipped the blade open.

“You brought her with you?” he asked, staring at the weapon with a squint.

She swallowed a few times; ensuring her voice didn’t come out shaky.

“You said to keep her on me from now on, right?”

He met her eyes, expression vacant of all emotion. She missed his playfulness instantly.

_Wouldn’t that be the icing on the cake? Going from a Hallmark movie moment to one of those Lifetime murder marathons? ‘My Soulmate is a Homicidal Clown: The Celine Harlow Story’._

A chuckle shot out of her.

_Ay you nutso, stop laughing! _

She clamped down on her tongue, bottom lip quivering from the effort it took to contain her mirth.

“And just what-ah exactly has you tickled so _pink_?”

He was thumbing the handle with short, deliberate strokes.

“Getting stabbed to death by you after having just been kissed senseless,” she blurted. “You tossing me into the ocean. A missing person’s report being filed by my relatives. The rights to my story being sold to the Lifetime network. Getting played by Charlize Theron. Her winning an Oscar because she played me better than I played myself.”

One of his brows arched up; halting his stroking of the blade.

“Murder on the mind _mu-**ch**_?”

“Ha! You’re one to talk,” she countered, extending a hand. “May I have her back?”

He brought the tip of the blade to his lips.

“Even after her…_starring_ role in your disfigurement?”

The spot where she lacked a pinky throbbed in response to this question.

“Yes…I might not be as motivated as you to use her, but her presence is…comforting.”

She couldn’t identify the noise that got caught in his throat.

_Again, I surprised him. Why? I’m doing what he told me to. Then again…considering my aversion to violence, perhaps keeping Sally on me despite who its owner is…pleases him?_

“You’re an odd one,” he murmured, dropping the handle into her outstretched hand.

“Who’s the flatterer now?” she answered, relaxing only when Sally was in her possession once more. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a shower. Mind letting me up so I can give you an official tour?”

Internally, she figured he would put up more of a fuss. Or try and twist the situation to his advantage.

Instead, he leaned down, rubbed each of his cheeks all over her face so she was smeared with white and red greasepaint, before pushing up to his feet and strolling over to the staircase.

She patted the smudges he’d left behind.

_And I’m the odd one?_

Choosing not to look to much into it, she got to her feet and followed after him.

What awaited her at the top of the stairs made all of her fuzzy feelings instantly subside.

Just a little bit ahead of her Joker had one hand behind his back clutching one of his thicker-bladed knives. His shoulders were hunched forward, eyes glued to the black Chevrolet truck rumbling down the driveway toward her car. To him, the unidentifiable vehicle _was_ the threat he’d been perusing for earlier. Someone was infringing upon their privacy; someone he didn’t know; and the natural instinct was to withdraw something that could serve as a deterrent to whomever was at the driver’s wheel.

She intervened before he could let his suspicion snowball into something more dangerous.

“It’s alright,” she soothed, placing a hand on his lower back. “That’s my Uncle Lucien.”

A grumble brewed in the back of his throat.

“What’s he doing _here_?”

She almost shuddered at the hostility in his voice. Had she really just rolled around on the beach and made out with the same man beside her?

“Greeting me?” she guessed. “And probably dropping off some food. My Aunt June and Uncle Martin live a town over, and they oversee their own farm and garden. They make sure to hook me up with fresh produce, eggs, and whatever else I’ll need for the week. I promise he means you no harm.”

A few friendly honks in their direction helped soften the tension in Joker’s shoulders ever so slightly.

She raised her arm up and offered her uncle a wave.

When he finally parked next to her car, she made to step forward, but caught herself at the last second.

“Please put it away,” she requested, glancing up at him. “You said so long as you’re not provoked, there won’t be a problem.”

A tic shot through his jaw.

She lowered her voice and rested a hand on his chest, not speaking until he looked down at her.

“_Please_.”

He scoured her expression for a long moment, trying to whiff out the faintest hint of deception. When only genuineness greeted him, he slowly flicked the blade closed and tucked it back into his pocket.

_“Ask him to do something for you. Inherently, love is not a selfish emotion. If he does what you ask for no one’s benefit but your own…there may still be hope.”_

That constituted as doing something for her, right? Especially when it required submerging his own feelings of unease about the situation.

Her attention was pulled to the _ding!_ of the truck door being thrown open.

“Thank you,” she said. “You wanted to meet my family, right? Let’s meet them…_angel cakes_.”

His lips twitched at the endearment.

_Guide him back. Find a way to put him at ease like he’d been on the beach._

“If it ain’t my favorite niece,” he called, moving toward them. “How you been sunshine?”

She approached him with long strides, grinning widely.

“Not as good as you, moonshine.” She did a double-take. “Did-_did_ Aunt Dolores finally hack your beard off?”

When they were mere inches from each other, he drew her into a tight hug of which she returned, arms coming to rest around his back.

Her Uncle Lucien was just shy of 63 years of age and prior to this moment, had been recognized for the past decade by his burly, sandy-silver beard that’d extended all the way down to his sternum. It wasn’t unusual for him to let his wife Dolores or their grandchildren braid a few of the strands whenever they felt he needed to spruce up his appearance a bit.

Now, with only a short, prickly stubble present, he was nearly a stranger. The bristly gray hair on his head appeared to have gotten a very close call with a razor as well.

For most his life Lucien worked in some shape or form beneath the sun, be it fixing up roofs or putting up siding in the area, a mechanic on his sister June’s farm, or offering his services as a freelance landscaper. His dark, tanned skin reflected decades of being outdoors; his hands a working man’s- well-worn and thick with callouses. Though nearly a senior citizen, his arms were defined and corded with muscle. Sun wrinkles and laugh lines were prominent throughout his face, but his blue eyes never lost that zest for life, that challenge for a new project. He was essential to the family; someone Joachim would have been proud to call a son, a successor.

“That she did,” he answered against her. “Worried birds were gonna start making a nest out of it.”

She leaned back to absorb his clean-shaven face.

“You look ten years younger.”

He smiled at the compliment, but it was brief. She knew the moment he noticed the splotches of healing bruises on her face. It made her wish she’d had the hindsight to use a bit of concealer to hide them from view.

Almost instinctively, his eyes shot behind her. Joker was lingering not a full ten feet away. From Lucien’s furrowed brow, she knew her companion wasn’t wearing all that welcoming of an expression.

_I really should have rehearsed this more. _

“Uncle,” she said, bringing his attention back to her, “this is my friend Jack. I hope you don’t mind; he’s going to be staying with me for the week.”

Joker didn’t acknowledge her greeting.

Celine took a step back; glancing between the two. They very much resembled two coyotes taking the other in, gauging each other’s threat level.

Before she could attempt to calm the tension between the two, Lucien spoke; switching to the second language nearly all of her family members had been taught from birth - French.

“Did he do this to you, Cece?”

She quickly shook her head, answering him in the same language.

“Of course not, he wouldn’t be standing here if he had. He has a penchant for theatrics, hence the face paint. But he’s a good friend to me, Uncle. Truly.”

Internally, she cringed a little at the generous descriptor. Did good friends hold each other hostage?

“You sure?” he followed up, re-scanning her face.

“I am,” she promised. “And I prefer we speak in a language we all understand. It’s not very polite to make my guest feel excluded.”

His nod took a few seconds to appear.

“Jack is it?” Lucien asked, walking toward him with an extended arm. “Lucien Harlow. Cece’s favorite uncle, though we’ll keep that secret just between us.”

Joker stared at the outstretched hand. He made no move to shake it.

Instead, he looked at her.

“_Cece_?”

She blushed a little, offering him a shrug.

“They’ve called me that since I was old enough to talk. It makes me feel…juvenile. I’m _not_ a kid anymore.”

“No,” Lucien agreed, lowering his hand. “You’re not. But heaven help it my tongues got a difficult time calling you anything else. You’ll always be little Cece to us.”

The warmth lighting up Lucien’s face seemed to quell the distrust vibrating off of Joker’s form. His shoulders descended a bit.

“Ce-**_cee_**,” he enunciated, licking his bottom lip. “Cuuu-_te._”

The stare he pinned her with had her cheeks reddening in color.

Lucien looked between the two. Amazingly, he wasn’t hung up on Joker’s scars. And if he was, he did a very good job masking it.

“And how’d you two manage to acquaint yourselves?”

Before Celine could hash out another fib, Joker answered.

“Always been an admirer of her…_app_. It ah _really_ helped me through some rough times.”

Lucien nodded.

“He’s ex-military,” Celine pitched in, relieved Joker wasn’t trying to sabotage the introduction. “Came home from Afghanistan with some PTSD and a few…battle scars. He actually reached out to me through a letter. And um, his gratitude made me want to schedule a meet-up with him. We’ve been…inseparable ever since.”

Joker smirked at her use of ‘inseparable’.

“That we have,” he murmured lowly. “I’d spend _every_ day with her, given the chance.”

Now, he was entering the territory of facetiousness. Lucien didn’t seem to pick up on it.

“I knew that endeavor would open doors for you,” he said, smiling at her. “I’m proud of you, sunshine.”

“That’s kind of you,” she accepted quietly.

Lucien’s gaze returned to Joker. He set his hands on his hips and kicked at the dust beneath his feet. It drew both of their eyes to his scuffed-up work boots.

“Jack…mind telling me who roughened up my niece? And whether I gotta assemble a search party to hunt them down?”

Though it was a clear attempt at humor, Lucien’s tone was dead serious. This seemed to further put Joker at ease. It appeared this was one commonality they could agree on- you messed with Celine, you messed with all those that were fond of her.

“Mugging gone wrong,” she answered before Joker could. “You know how bad crime’s gotten in Gotham. Unfortunately, it was the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Lucien’s smile slipped.

“They’ve been dealt with,” Joker confirmed not a second later, wearing an unsettling smirk. “I saw to that _personally_.”

She could tell Lucien wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or worried. After a few moments of contemplation, he settled on the former.

“Good to know someone’s watching out for her. Cece’s the sorta gal to reach out and help anyone. We love that about her, but…there’s always the concern she’ll extend a hand to someone who don’t deserve it.”

“Mm…that person wouldn’t have hands for long.”

_My God could he act any more like a serial killer?_

“Got a delivery to drop off?” she redirected, looking at his truck.

This snapped Lucien out of his train of thought. He followed her gaze.

“That I do,” he said. “Since Marty put that fence up earlier in the spring to keep the deer out, June’s had a good haul. We got us three gallons of milk, three half gallons of apple cider, four quarts of blueberries, four quarts of strawberries, couple basins of apples, four dozen eggs, six bags of vacuum sealed chicken breast, two bags of potatoes, half a sack of sweet corn, and a quart of carrots, peas, radishes, cucumbers, bell peppers, tomatoes, and lettuce.”

She whistled…or attempted to at least. It came out sounding more like a deflated balloon. Whistling…wasn’t her strong suit.

“She’s bent on spoiling me rotten.”

“If that ain’t the truth,” he mused, rubbing his chin. “Fishing’s been decent this month, so if you’re not opposed, I can drop by some salmon, shrimp, and trout later in the evening.”

“Only if you can spare it.”

“It’ll pick back up,” he assured. “This heat wave ain’t doing me any favors, but once it settles, I’ll be hitting my limits again. Forgot to mention, I got six bundles of firewood back at the house for you. Couldn’t fit it all in the back. I’ll bring that by too.”

“Thank you,” she stated, offering Lucien a squeeze on his shoulder. “I appreciate you all looking out for me.”

“Ain’t no trouble at all. Lemme get everything inside for you.”

“I’ll help.”

He went to the back of his pick-up and undid the hatch, revealing a smorgasbord of goodies.

Joker watched them unload the fruit, produce and dairy, making no move to help. Not that Celine expected it out of him. In fact, it was nice to share this moment with her uncle. She and Joker had been attached at the hip for the past eight hours. She needed a little bit of room to breathe.

The house Joachim built bore a lovely cottage-like exterior with canary yellow siding all the way around. The trimming along the windows and roof was a softer white, and the roof itself a seafoam green color with an equally green metal chimney protruding upward to release smoke when the wooden fireplace inside was in use. After Nora’s death left the house vacant for a time, Lucien made an addition to the roof so it could cover the two attached porches – one facing the woods to the west, one facing the cliffs and ocean to the east.

They entered through the white, double french doors and made their way to the kitchen.

After setting the three gallons of milk onto the tile counter, Lucien risked a peek at the slightly ajar front door. He was just able to make out Joker lingering near the entrance, staring in their direction unblinkingly.

“Hm.”

He turned his back toward him and looked at her.

Celine arched a brow, dragging the sack of corn over to sit next to her.

“Go ahead, I know you’ve got a lot to say.”

Lucien was careful about choosing his words.

“He’s…different.”

“Aren’t we all?”

His sigh was cautious.

“Seems…polite. But there’s a look in his eye that unsettles me. You know it takes a lot to do that.”

She nodded.

“He…didn’t have the best experience in Afghanistan. Honorably discharged, but he saw things no one should be exposed to.”

“And the scars?”

“They-.” She opted for a bit of truth. “-he doesn’t talk about how he got them. I…don’t push him to tell me.”

“A man’s secrets are his own,” he agreed, peering at her face. “Just a friend of yours you said?”

“Nothing more,” she promised.

“Mind explaining why your face is covered in some of his paint?”

She stared at the floorboards, fighting the urge to palm her hot cheeks.

“I-he…_heh_…we were wrestling in the sand and he sort of…rubbed his face all over mine.”

The silence was deafening. She felt like she was being interrogated by Bruce all over again after he’d rescued her.

“Just friends?” he repeated.

“_Just friends_.”

“Mm.” He stepped closer to her. “You ain’t outta your depths with this one, are ya?”

_Yes! Yes I am!_

“I hope not,” she said. “Jack is…special to me. When it’s just us…he…forgets who he is and all that had happened to him. Just…I know it’s asking a lot, but please give him the benefit of the doubt. There’s more to him than meets the eye.”

_Hopefully._

It took him some time to respond. That he was being so apprehensive was both sweet _and_ nerve-wracking. Though she had only in the past few years explored her extrasensory gifts, she had always suspected her Uncle Lucien to have something special about him as well. A certain insight he carried that had him known amongst everyone as the best advice giver they’d ever met. She’d attributed it to the wisdom that came with age but wondered – especially now – if he wasn’t somewhat in tune to the same version of self she was. Her own intuition hinted he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the situation…wasn’t as willing to accept Jack on her word alone. And truthfully…she didn’t blame him one bit.

“I will,” he settled on, “for you.”

“Thank you.”

They needed to make two more trips to get everything off Lucien’s truck bed and into the house. Joker was quiet the entire time, mostly re-scanning his environment until he had it committed to memory. He didn’t stray far from their parked vehicles, watching them with a neutral expression.

“Welp, that appears to be the last of it.” Lucien brushed his hands together. “I’ll be by in an hour or two to drop off the fish and firewood.”

“I might run up to Wally World, so you’re welcome to leave it inside.” She embraced him again, holding him tight. “Thank you again, tell June I appreciate the living hell out of her.”

When they pulled back, Lucien began to make his way to the driver’s side door. Celine inched her way toward Joker. They were almost in the clear.

He paused before hopping in, turning to them.

“Sorta tradition ‘round here each summer Cece comes up,” he mentioned, meeting Joker’s eyes, “to have a family cookout on my property. Grill some meats, munch on some corn, have a few beers, shoot a few rifles. Might we be expecting you Jack?”

_Ah…**fudge**. I forgot all about that. And it is a family affair…aunts, uncles, cousins, family friends…there’s no way Jack would feel comfortable in that sort of environment._

Apparently, Joker thought differently.

He wrapped an arm around Celine’s shoulders, tugging her into his side. The politest smirk she’d ever seen, revealed itself.

“You may,” he assured, thumb stroking her shoulder. “I look _forward _to meeting my future in-laws.”

She bunched her hands into fists to prevent them from smacking him.

Lucien’s eyes widened a tad. He coughed before answering.

“I’m sure they’ll all be very interested to meet you.” He glanced between them. “Day after tomorrow sound peachy?”

Her tongue felt like a cinderblock.

“Peachy _keen_,” Joker confirmed, lapping up the saliva around his scars.

He threw them a final wave before hopping into his truck, backing around Celine’s car, and pulling onto the driveway; tossing them a few extra honks just in case they didn’t feel welcome enough.

The moment his truck was out of view, Celine pushed Joker away from her. He allowed it, giggling at the reaction.

“Why?” she demanded, throwing a hand in the air. “He might not look it, but Lu’s a terrible gossip. Do you realize the predicament you just put us in?”

“Oh, don’t be like that sweets, it’ll be fun! We’ll hold hands, give each other eskimo kisses, make lovey dovey eyes at each other, reassure your family you’re not going to die alone…sounds like a good time to me.”

She groaned, glaring up at the sky.

Joker took this opportunity to get right up in her personal space. One of his hands shot out and pinched her cheek.

“You’re _soooooo_ easy,” he teased, biting at his lip.

She knocked his hand loose with a scowl.

“If that’s the case how come you haven’t gotten laid yet?”

His grin turned downright predatory. She dearly wished she’d have rethought her choice of words.

“All in good time, sweets. All in good…_time_.”

She backed up a step and ran a hand over her face. Not bothering to stifle her groan, she peeked at him through index finger and middle.

“You really want to come with me to the cookout? Surrounded by people you don’t know? _Good_ people. People that believe in helping others, in family values. The exact sort you wouldn’t hesitate to murder just to give yourself a laugh.”

He took a step toward her, regaining the lost space between them.

“Your uncle sorta _shoved_ the invitation in my hand. Wasn’t ah going to be _rude_.”

“You should have been.”

He frowned at her sharp response. She could tell he wanted to answer with something equally as sharp…just as cutting. But he seemed to rethink his approach. Which she’d have found astounding if she wasn’t so annoyed by him.

“I’ll let ya in on a little secret, _Cece_.” Her brows narrowed at his condescending tone. “I don’t get my rocks off killing random hicks in Bumfuck, Nowhere. Not unless they give me a _reason_ to. I like to shake things u-**_p_**. Stir the pot. Disturb the _un_natural order of things. When I kill, I want it to send a message. You know that better than anyone. Not all psychopaths want to mow down every person they see…though that idea has its appeal some days more than others.”

She listened carefully to his words. Even though he voiced them with quite a bit of harshness, she suspected them to be very nearly true. And that he even bothered saying them for her benefit…

“Okay.” She released a lengthy sigh. “I’m picking up what you’re putting down.”

“Good. _Not_ in the business of repeating myself.”

Her gaze traveled to the front of the house. Then to her trunk.

“So…ready for that tour?”

He was in decent spirits once more.

“Oh yes, very, very ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious at all what I envisioned Celine's home to look like, this is almost exactly it (just a little larger with a few additions to the roof)  
https://www.flickr.com/photos/pej/46768975/


	28. Chapter 28

The interior of Celine’s former home sat at just a little over 1500 sq. feet; boasting three generously-sized bedrooms, one full bathroom right next to what was formerly Nora’s master bedroom, a half bathroom immediately to the right of the front entryway, a small mudroom near the east entrance of the house facing the cliffs, a cozy, semi-open kitchen bearing the same vintage rose-colored wallpaper that’d been there since its conception, and next to it a spacious living room with a door leading out to the porch facing the ocean. A large set of bay windows on either side of the door made for viewing some absolutely stellar sunrises and sunsets.

Joker was liberal with his question-asking throughout the tour. She had to hand it to him, he really was one curious little clown.

“What-ah happens with the dirty clothes? Or do you just walk around _stark_ naked?”

He gave her a long scan up and down, the corner of his lips curling up. It didn’t take a mind reader to know what he was picturing at the moment.

She ignored his heated gaze. He was most likely interested in the lack of a washer and dryer.

“We’ve always handwashed our clothes at the basin sink in the mudroom,” she admitted. “Then hung everything out to dry on a clothesline.”

“Mm…seems tedious.”

She shrugged.

“It was just the two of us for so long. When you spent most of your life doing it, you don’t see it that way.”

Upon his perusal of the full bathroom, he made a face. She tried following his gaze, intrigued as to what prompted it. Her money was either on the 1920’s clawfoot tub with a detachable shower head surrounded by a curtain stenciled with a bunch of tiny sailboats or the light cyan wall color with a strip of white wallpaper all the way around bearing blue anchors or the salmon pink seashell-shaped sink. Granted, the nautical theme was present throughout the entire house, but not nearly as condensed as it was in the bathroom.

“You ah _like_ living like you’re still stuck in the sixties?”

She crossed her arms.

“It’s homey,” she defended. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He scoffed, leaning back on the entryway and mimicking her crossed arms.

“This place _reeks_ of an old people’s home. Only thing missing is the stench of piss and mothballs.”

She humored him.

“Well I do have to pee…and I can text Lucien about bringing over some mothballs if you’d like.”

He made sure she didn’t miss his eyeroll.

Before being shown the master bedroom, he paused to examine the door leading in. This time she hardly faulted him for his intrigue.

“My mom was in love with Jim Morrison,” she said, eying the life-sized poster taped on the front of the door showcasing Jim intimately cupping a microphone on stage with eyes closed. “When she was eleven her best friend’s dad managed to get tickets to what would end up being his last concert in the US before he passed. Even though it was a total disaster - he was pretty much a shell of his former self by then - seeing him in person was surreal to her. She cried for a week straight when she learned he O.D.’d. To her he was the epitome of free love and self-expression.”

“Didn’t _ah_ he start a house on fire while his girlfriend was locked in the closet?”

She scratched the back of her neck, chuckling nervously.

“Well, no one’s perfect, eh?”

His eyes lingered on her for longer than she was comfortable. When he didn’t respond, she cleared her throat and opened the door.

With the exception of the clothes in the dresser drawer, everything remained as it was when Nora last occupied the room. The same queen-sized bed neatly made, the same dated manila wallpaper, the same framed photos of family gatherings or collages of polaroids that’d been collected depicting the scenery along the coast, the same vanity and mirror, the same empty Chifforobe, and the same recessed lighting that had been wildly popular during the seventies.

Joker approached the bed and ran two fingers along the duvet covering it. He studied the dust coating his fingertips.

“I take it you’re too _sentimental_ to sleep in mommy’s old room?”

She didn’t care for how he voiced this but elected to overlook it.

“My room’s fine,” she answered with a shrug. “The adults will sleep in here to give the kids in the other rooms more privacy, but otherwise we don’t really utilize the space unless we have to.”

“A little superstitious, don’t ya think?”

“Is it so bad to honor one’s memory?”

“When ya treat a space like a mausoleum it ah _might_ be time to examine why.”

She didn’t want to admit to it, but his observation held some weight to it. No matter who stayed at the house they all treated Nora’s room like an extension of her. And no one wanted to be the first to begin erasing her memory.

“You’re welcome to sleep in here,” she offered.

His jaw visibly tightened. She was somewhat confused by the reaction.

“What?”

He tilted his head, peering at her through his hair.

“Mm…good sign of a generous host is giving them an option on sleeping arrange-**_ments._**”

“Sure, where do you want to-.” Her eyes widened. “In your dreams. I just spent eight hours trapped in a car with you. When I go to sleep, it will be by myself…in my own bed…_minus_ you.”

Joker’s pout was the definition of shameless.

“Believe it or not that ah last time we shared a bed was the longest I slept in _years_. Help a clown out, hm?”

“No.”

His pout deepened.

“_Pretty_ please? With ah _extra_ cherries and sprinkles on top?”

“You’re either sleeping on your own or you’re not sleeping at all. Your choice.”

He grumbled something she couldn’t make out.

“_Fine_,” he agreed. “I’ll take mommy’s former bed. Just a forewarning…ya might wanna change the sheets in the morning. Might be a bit…_crusty_.”

She froze.

“You are _not_ masturbating in my mom’s bed.”

His smirk was deadly.

“I’ve been carrying around a pretty hefty hard-on for ya most of the day.” He palmed himself firmly to emphasize his point. “Can’t exactly blame me for wanting a little…stress relief.”

“There’s always the shower,” she deflected. “Or use one of your socks.”

“’M not a teenager, _Cece_.”

“You’re not masturbating in my mom’s bed,” she reaffirmed.

“I won’t…if ya let me sleep in yours.”

She gritted her teeth.

“Jack.”

“Ce-_cee_.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she looked up at the ceiling.

“Okay, fine, whatever…masturbate til the cows come home, I don’t care.”

_Sorry mom. I don’t trust myself with the alternative option. _

“Plan on it.”

She led him to her bedroom, still seething a little at his declaration. And embarrassed at the miniscule part of her that was aroused at the idea of him jerking off to her.

_Cool your jets, woman. Otherwise your hand might be just as busy as his tonight._

He surprisingly said very little upon taking her room in. The space was slightly smaller than Nora’s; the walls bathed in a berry pink color. Hand painted on those walls were about a dozen or so black dahlias courtesy of her friend Kathy. Before meeting her untimely end, she dabbled for years in painting and for Celine’s 13th birthday surprised her (after getting Nora’s approval) with the artwork.

After Kathy’s suicide, sleeping in this room was…not easy. But over time she came to see the artwork as a means of preserving her friend’s legacy. Kathy was talented and passionate and alive once and she loved Celine enough to create an environment that reminded her of that.

“Where’s uh all your _stuff_?”

He was accurate in his inquiry. With the exception of a mahogany dresser and queen-sized bed, the room was bare.

“I took everything with me to Gotham when I got enrolled at GIT,” she said, frowning a little. “Posters, books, movies…the stuffed animal I used to sleep with. When I was homeless for a short spell I…sold all of it for food or booze.”

He was eyeing her with a tilt of the head.

“Ya know for someone who’s sitting on a fine _chun-**k**_ of change in the bank, you sure use it sparingly. Other than the basic necessities – food, rent, clothes – or a gift for one of your…_friends_, you don’t spend much on yourself. I mean…look at what you drive! Ya had me stumped for awhile on why that was…but I ah think I _get_ it.”

She rotated her finger counterclockwise.

“Go back, go back…how do you know who I spend my money on and how?”

He sighed as if she were dense.

“You _really_ think your banking information is difficult to get into?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Undeterred, Joker continued.

“You don’t feel deserving of possessions, do ya?” He took a step closer to her. “I mean with the exception of your TV for entertainment, your laptop and phone for work and a few nick knacks, your apartment is about as bare as this room. That’s it, isn’t _it_? You screwed the pooch once… forced to get rid of everything you held dear, and now that you’ve got more money than you know what to do with…hesitate on using it on yourself. Because…you don’t feel…_deserving_ of it. Because you know…how easily it could _poof!_ disappear just like that.”

She didn’t bother arguing his assessment. He was very nearly close to the truth.

“I am deserving of things,” she said. “I just…maybe have this irrational worry that shit will hit the fan again in the future. And…the less I spend on myself, the less I can equate material possessions with…wealth. With…importance. You are right, it could all disappear. I…want to be content with what I have. So, if something like that happens again…I won’t be poor, not really. I’ll have…me at least.”

Her eyes were suddenly adamant on studying the carpet. Because of this, she missed the way Joker smiled at her; lips lacking his usual mockery. He liked that answer _a lot._ Far too many people these days guarded and viewed material possessions like they intended to take them to the afterlife with them. Celine saw the bigger picture…the most valuable possession was the self. So few could take that away from you. Well, so few _other _than him.

Just as quickly, his lips smoothed out.

“And what ah- _what_ stuffed animal did you use to sleep with?’

She looked up, amused by the question. Until she realized what the answer was.

“I…don’t remember.”

“Mm…” Joker made his way toward her, tapping at his chin. “I think you do. And I think I know too…I just…want to _hear_ you say it.”

Instinctively, she began to back away. This only hastened Joker’s grin.

“C’mon little bunny, I know it’s on the tip of your tongue.” He licked his lips, eyes flicking to her own. “So uh…_out with it_.”

Her shoulders struck the wall behind her first. She looked at anything besides his approaching form. When he was an arm’s length away, she exhaled deeply.

“It was a…teddy…_bear_.”

He brought both palms to rest on either side of her, forehead gently bumping into hers. His breathing was much more composed than hers.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” he mentioned lowly. “That a cuddle _bear_ would find its way back to ya? Don’t you want me back, Cece? I have missed sleeping in your bed so _terribly_.”

She didn’t think her face could get any redder. Even though he was taunting her, the playfulness with which he did…the rumble of his voice…it was all doing rather…unholy things to her.

“I-.” One hand shot out and pushed him back so there was at least _some_ separation between their bodies. “I’ll show you outside real quick.”

Before he could argue, she ducked under one of his arms and power walked to the door. Joker bit his bottom lip but followed dutifully behind.

First, she showed him the porch on the east side of the house facing the cliffs. Currently, a wooden porch swing occupied the space overlooking the ocean. More seating options – including patio furniture and camper chairs – were stored away in the garage.

She then showed him the porch on the west side of the house facing the woods.

“We’ve got some pretty awesome trails if you want to explore them tomorrow. This is usually where we hang out after the sun’s gone down and we want to have a bonfire.”

Her gaze was trained on the firepit just a few feet away from where the deck ended. When Joker didn’t answer, she glanced at him.

_Go figure._

He had discarded the tarp overtop the jacuzzi lodged right against the house. One arm was resting on the tub while the rest of him was peeking inside.

“A recent addition,” she mentioned, moving beside him. “Lu installed it maybe…two years ago? I never saw the need for it when you’ve got the ocean…but…I also wasn’t a pinky down back then.”

“Be a _shame_ not to utilize your uncle’s hard work.”

“I’ll pass,” she diverted, not wishing to confine herself, half naked, in such a small, steamy space with him. “If you want, I can fill it up for you, you’re more than welcome to use it.”

He pushed himself away from the jacuzzi, suddenly not as impressed with it. Without a word, he made his way back inside, her following suit not soon after.

Leaving Joker to his own devices had her feeling all sorts of anxious, but she really, really needed that shower. As it turns out, sweat, grime and greasepaint were a very unpleasant combination to be covered in.

“Did you need anything?” she asked before retreating to the bathroom. “Something to drink? Eat?”

He was busy picking up various photos off the fire mantle in the living room, studying the occupants within the frame closely. When he didn’t answer, she deemed him content.

The shower was a lengthy one and she felt ready for a long nap after stepping out. For obvious reasons, she had taken a change of clothes in with her. Joker wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut if he saw her clad in only a towel. And she was pretty exhausted with the amount of blushing she’d done today. The heat in her cheeks alone could power up a grill.

When she finally found her reluctant companion, he was sitting on the kitchen table, legs swinging back and forth. A near empty quart of apple cider was resting beside him as he typed out a message on his phone; wearing a smile that made her uneasy.

_Don’t ask, you’re not going to like the answer._

She focused instead on his apparent love for apple cider. At this rate, they’d be out by tomorrow. Not that she was complaining. Her Aunt June took pride in the cider making process, and it made her heart flutter that Joker took to it so much. She wondered if he’d at all be interested in the spiked version of the drink. Her aunt and uncle were whiskey and rum lovers and a few of the quarts they filled up were blended with both liquors, creating a delicious concoction.

“You gonna stare at me all night sweetheart?”

She shook herself out of her thoughts. His phone was tucked away, and he’d taken to watching her for the past few minutes.

“Sorry.” She shook her head and ran a hand through her damp strands. “Um…did you want to hang tight here while I run up to Wal-Mart?”

He was on his feet immediately.

“No-_pe_.” He clapped his hands a couple of times. “Let’s giddy up.”

She scanned him from head to toe.

“I have some spare t-shirts and sweats you can throw on if you’d like.”

He patted his vest and dress shirt, an adorable frown crossing his face.

“What’s _wrong_ with what I got on?”

“Well there’s nothing wrong…it’s just that…aren’t you worried you might be…recognized?”

He arched a brow.

“Ah _no_, not really. And even if I am…what are the chances Gotham’s _finest_ criminal would be caught shopping at a Wal-Mart in Maine at-.” He glanced at his watch. “-seven-ten on a Saturday evening? Odds are if I am recognized, they’ll convince themselves _they’re_ the crazy ones. And I _like_ that…making them think they’re bonkers without even lifting a finger.”

She hesitated before answering. Being seen in public with him…caught on surveillance cameras…it would be extremely incriminating should the wrong eyes see it.

“You’re sure?”

The discomfort in her tone wasn’t able to be blotted out entirely.

“_Yup_.”

Her nod was reluctant. Joker picked up on it right away.

Sighing dramatically, he unbuttoned his vest and tossed it on the back of a chair, followed shortly by his tie. Humming under his breath, he went to the sink and wetted his hands. He then ran both soaked hands through his hair so it was slicked back some; any loose strands tucked behind his ears.

She tried not to stare when he began rolling both sleeves of his dress shirt up until the fabric was bunched tightly around his elbows.

_His. God. Damn. Forearms._

Her gaze strayed down to his shoes. The longer they spent around one another, the more she found to admire about Joker’s physique. It was lucky she’d had the hindsight to bring her favorite vibrator. With how rampantly her hormones were influencing her thoughts, it wouldn’t take long to use it.

“Best you’re getting,” he stated, stretching out his arms. “Watcha think?”

The day’s events had smeared a good portion of his greasepaint off. Only around the eyes and mouth was the color still heavy. His manila dress shirt minus the vest and tie gave him the appearance of someone eccentric. She supposed she preferred eccentric over homicidal.

“Undo the first button.”

Did she really just say that?

Joker seemed just as surprised. He did, however, comply with her wishes; exposing his pale throat and Adam’s apple.

She was sorely tempted to kiss it, but priority won out. They needed to get going before it got too late.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t nearly as discrete in her admiration as she hoped to be. Joker was grinning like he’d been let in on a dirty little secret of hers.

“Looks great. Good. Tolerable. Acceptable,” she babbled, turning to the front door. “Ready to go?”

When he spoke, she could tell he’d covered some distance between them.

“I can always undo _another_ one,” he suggested. “Or another…or another…and if ya really want, I don’t have to be wearing _anything_ at…all.”

Gulping, she shook her head.

“One is good,” she promised, heading to the empty fruit bowl in the hallway which held her keys. “I-maybe try and think up a list on the way? Whatever you need, I’ll get it.”

The moment her fingers wrapped around the keys; his arms snuck around her waist, palms covering her tummy. She was frozen in place as he tugged her back into his front, chin coming to rest atop her shoulder.

“Mmm…whatever I need?” he mumbled into her ear. “I ah _don’t_ think you’ll scan at the register. Unless you’ve got a barcode somewhere I don’t know about.”

He took to examining her closely, one hand sneaking up her shirt, fingernails grazing across her belly.

She jumped at the sensation, an involuntary laugh bursting from her throat.

“That was not the best word choice,” she agreed, biting her lip. The strength in his body was making it difficult to remember why it was she should be leaning away from him and not _into_. “I promise I’m barcode free. If I ring up, it’ll be just as much a shock to you as me.”

“Oh, you’ll ring up allll-**_right_**,” he assured, arms tightening on her as his nose brushed the curve of her jaw. “Problem is-.” He licked his lips, watching her pulse throb. “-I ah _can’t_ purchase something I _already_ own.”

She should have been offended by the implication, but he chose that moment to kneel and scoop her up in his arms bridal style. Her arms quickly found safety around his neck, slightly bewildered at the shift in positions.

Joker was peering at her through hooded eyelids, wearing a smirk that made it feel like the ground was dropping out from beneath her.

“Don’t think you’ll fit in a bag either,” he mentioned. “Best I ah put you in the car myself, hm?”

Her brain was racing from one thought to another. What prompted this sudden playfulness? Should she engage? Should she put a stop to it? What were the consequences of either route?

_Don’t think, just…be._

“You’re going to leave without taking the receipt?” she asked him, placing a hand on her chest. “What if you want a refund? Or I break and you want a new one?”

“If you break, I’ll repair you,” he answered, making his way to the front door. “And I’m not someone who believes in refunds…sign of a lazy, _un_original mind. And as you so _eloquently_ pointed out earlier, I don’t believe in the concept of paying, so…I ah guess you’re technically stolen _goods_.”

It was impossible to hold back a smile. He was enjoying his little roleplay so much and she simply didn’t have the heart to dampen it.

“Oh no!” Her eyes widened as one arm shot behind him and pointed at an invisible offender. “I think security knows you’re stealing! Run, Jack!”

He didn’t need to be told twice, booking into a run toward the front door. With an impressive hastiness, one of his hands grabbed the doorknob and yanked it open.

Regrettably, he hadn’t quite thought through how to get her out the door in the horizontal position she was in. Which is why the moment he tried to sprint through the entryway, the side of her skull struck the wooden siding with a teeth-rattling _thump!_

Arms suddenly vanished from beneath her, causing her to drop on her back with a groan. Two fingers went to the tender, newly forming bruise on her temple as her chest heaved up and down.

“Ow,” she mumbled, eyes fluttering. “Gah, I should be used to this.”

When Joker started to laugh, she slung an arm over her eyes and moaned.

“Oooh hee hee hah hah _hahaha_.” He was struggling to stand straight and not launch back into another fit. “Sorry ‘bout that sweets, I ah forgot you’re not doorway-sized. Mm…need me to kiss your owie all better?”

Yet again he had an arm outstretched toward her. He wasn’t choosing to be a _complete_ dick about the mishap, which is what she chose to focus on.

“No, I’m fine.” She grabbed his hand and let him pull her up. “Just…don’t do that again.”

The moment she was on her feet, Joker used his opposite hand to cup her skull and bring her face up towards his.

“Wha-.”

He proceeded to shower her face with an onslaught of dry, sloppy kisses. One above her right eye. The middle of her right cheek. Her chin. The bridge of her nose. Near the crown of her forehead. Everywhere _but_ the blossoming goose egg on the side of her temple.

Once he thought her sufficiently healed by the magic of his mangled lips, he leaned back to peer at her; beaming like he was the second coming of Mother Teresa.

“Mm…all better?”

She released a breath she hadn’t known was being held in. _No_, the ache was still prominent. But…_yes_…she wasn’t opposed to his handling of her injury, even if nothing was actually done to better it.

“Be more careful with your purchases from now on,” she murmured, eyes glued to his mouth. “Kissing it better won’t always work.”

“Hm…I think you _underestimate_ the healing qualities of these beauties.”

He smacked them once, his scars twitching upwards at the action.

She tried hard not to giggle at the action. Tried being the key word.

“You’re a dork,” she said softly, pinching the tip of his nose. “Let’s go before I suffer another concussion.”

The ride to the nearest Wal-Mart in Higginsville – a slightly larger town about ten minutes away – went smoothly for the most part. Joker kept any smart-ass comments to a minimum and ended up revealing something about himself that made her realize just how brilliant of a brain he had in his possession.

“What ah _exactly_ was it you called me in French in front of your uncle?” he asked. “‘A good friend’?”

“Yeah.” She looked at him, lips parted. “You understood all of that?”

“_Most_ of it. Don’t know it as cleanly as I do Russian, Italian, or Spanish.”

Her eyebrows rose. Thank goodness she and her uncle hadn’t said anything too uncomplimentary about him

“How many languages do you speak?”

“Mm…speaking and understanding are two separate beasts. How many do I understand? Six. First learned Russian …it’s most of these so-called “mobsters” mother tongue. Never let on that I knew it of course…much more beneficial to hear them speak it as if you’re too dumb to understand. Now, how many do I fluently speak? Three.”

“Russian, Italian, and Spanish,” she repeated, connecting the dots. “The most common languages amongst people in your…workplace.”

“Right-o.”

She could very easily envision him playing dumb as whatever mob family he was propositioning conversed among themselves, nonethewiser that he understood exactly what they were saying. He was meticulous, she realized, in keeping to himself with what he excelled at. No point in cluing the enemy in prematurely.

“Do they talk about the scars a lot?”

“More times than I can count. Gets to be _very_ aggravating when you’re trying to con-**_duct_** business.”

She nodded.

“Our family has always been pretty proud of our French heritage,” she mentioned. “All of us were taught it along with English, at a young age.”

“Didn’t need to understand French to know your uncle _doesn’t_ like me much.”

“He’s…wary of you. Showing up in the state I did…it didn’t paint a good image in his mind. Don’t take it personally.”

“Wasn’t planning on _it_.”

She pulled into Wal Mart’s parking lot not soon after. Thankfully, the traffic was pretty light, _and_ she was able to find a spot very near the front doors. The little things in life!

“Got a list?” she reaffirmed after turning off the ignition.

“Mm…more or less. Don’t always know what I want until I see it.”

Again, he offered her a thorough scan.

The comment left her mouth before she could reign it in.

“Why the excessive flirtation? I’m not putting out for you, so you might as well save your breath, no?”

He threw a careless shrug in her direction.

“Tough to get under your skin,” he explained. “Flirting with you seems to be the only thing that turns ya into a hot, blushing mess. Plus, you can deny it _alllll_ you want, but it gets your motor running a little, doesn’t it? Knowing such a bad, bad, _bad_ man wants to plow ya like you’re a ten-foot snowbank. Wants to lap up the honey between your thighs like its nature’s _sweetest_ nectar. Wants to-. ”

“Okay,” she interrupted, feeling her cheeks throb. “Point taken.”

“Ya sure?” He was grinning from ear to ear. “The list of things I wanna do to ya is by no means _meager_.”

“Positive.”

As they got out of the car, she got to thinking.

_So, he’s behaving like this to get a rise out of me? Because it’s one of the few things he can do that will give him a guaranteed reaction? Well…that makes it easier to ignore, doesn’t it? Hell, he probably wouldn’t follow through with half the sexual things he’s threatened to do to me. Is it possible he just wants a quickie? Wham bam thank you ma’am, then trot on on his merry way when I’m out of his system?_

She didn’t immediately know why that stung to think about. By all means her life would be so much easier without his fixation on her. She and Bruce would no longer be at odds. Her conscience wouldn’t be suffering a crisis every few hours.

_He’s my soulmate. And I…am not a casual person. If he gives himself to me, I want him to be…mine. For as long as fate allows it. If this is all just fun to him…a way to see me squirm…what am I even doing here? Why put in the effort when he could so easily discard me like a toy he outgrew interest in?_

She was mildly unsettled at how much anxiety this train of thought prompted. Why was this such a concern all of a sudden? Was she mistaking him relaxing around her for something more than it was? Was he playing the part he knew she wanted to get what he needed?

“**_What?_**”

He was standing directly in front of her, studying her through narrowed lids.

She shook her head and shot him a half smile.

“Nothing. Sorry.”

The moment she tried to step around him, he grabbed her by the jaw and pulled her toward him. One hand slipped into her hair, fingers tightening around the strands until she was securely in his hold.

“You’re up-**_set_**,” he observed, voice lowering. “Why?”

“I’m not.”

He brought her face closer to his, scars ascending the deeper his frown got.

“You _are_. And if you don’t tell me why, you’re gonna make _me_ upset. And trust me, ya really, _really_ **_don’t_** wanna do that.”

_Why does he care? Shouldn’t this be amusing to him?_

One look in his eyes disproved that theory.

_He…cares. About what I think. And this…this is the only way he knows how to express it. _

“I’m _not_ a patient-.”

“Are you going to leave me?” she blurted, jawbone aching from his hold on it. “If I have sex with you that is. I…you’re just trying to get it out of your system, right? And your flirting…by your own admission, it’s just a ploy to get me to react. Like…if I did put out for you tonight, you’d be gone back to Gotham by tomorrow morning? Mission accomplished sorta thing.”

This line of questioning appeared to blindside him. Enough at least to release her chin and take a step back.

His expression was closed off again, and not even her intuition could wager a guess as to what he was contemplating.

“Only one way for you to find out,” was his calculated response.

This answer did little to inspire morale. She frowned and looked towards the store.

_When did this become so confusing? Before or after we arrived home? _

“I think I already know,” she said quietly.

Again, she made to step forward, but an arm snuck around her waist and tugged her body toward him.

“You’re thinking _far_ too much,” he warned. “Knock it off and let what’s happening _happen_. Who cares if I nail ya and run? Who cares if I stick around? We focus on the fun of it, hm?”

Her chest felt like it was constricting. She didn’t know where this sudden ache hailed from. All that she knew is she wanted it gone.

Before he could make another remark, she hooked both arms around his neck and drew him into a passionate kiss. He was just barely able to part his teeth before she had her tongue seeking his out, fingers curling into his locks and pulling him closer. He responded by pushing her back against her car, one knee slipping between her thighs so he could brush his hard-on against her.

Their make-out session was long and sloppy and a whirlwind of bites, groans, and quickly building arousal. She tried not to whimper each time he rubbed himself against her center, but his rutting was getting harsher and his tongue refused her any semblance of a hiding place in her own mouth.

To be fair, she _wanted_ him to pursue. His words had left her feeling so wildly conflicted. She longed to have him as close to her as possible just as much as she longed for him to never darken her doorstep ever again. She desired utter commitment from him just as much as she’d be relieved if he never paid any attention to her from here on out. And the only way she could express this maddening paradox was to kiss the air out of his lungs.

A deafening _honk!_ finally forced them to pull away; a drool of spit connecting their mouths. Some young guys cramped in a car had stopped near them and were staring out the window, offering a few hoots and hollers at the show they’d just put on.

“How much for you to kiss me like that baby?” one shouted at her.

In the blink of an eye, Joker had retracted a pistol concealed in the back of his pants. He aimed at the guy who propositioned her and fired two shots. The guy was just able to duck out of the way, both bullets whizzing over his head and coming out of the back-passenger window. The driver of the car slammed on the pedal and tore out of the lot.

His breaths were coming out just as fast as hers. The muscles in his neck were taut as a bow.

_You idiot, he’s not going to leave you after a lay. And even if he does, who cares? You’re letting worry talk…insecurity. Be mindful when it has control over your voice. You’re rusty when it comes to romance. It’s been a long time since you committed to someone. Anxiety will rear its ugly head, probably more often than someone who’s seasoned at these sorta things…just…relax. He may be your soulmate, but he owes you nothing. If a fun time is what he’s looking for, then enjoy yourself while you’ve got him. It doesn’t have to be so…serious._

She nodded at this. It was exactly what she needed to hear from her inner self. Observe anxious thoughts, don’t absorb. Observe, don’t absorb.

Joker was still seething at the comment, staring off in the direction the car had fled. Graciously, the only witness to the attempted shooting was an old man sitting in his car in the handicapped area, smoking a cigarette. When Joker glared in his direction, the old man raised the hand clutching the cigarette in a silent confirmation: I won’t say shit, have a pleasant evening. Such was the Maine way.

She took a hold of his hand and intertwined their fingers. He abruptly peered down at their joined limbs, then up at her.

“Thanks,” she said, smiling crookedly. “I mean you could have killed him and royally screwed yourself…but…I appreciate you doing something.”

“There’s still time to catch _up_ to them.”

He eyed her car expectantly.

“Not worth it,” she promised. “And sorry about earlier, I’m…picky about who I give my time to. I realize…it’s extremely unfair to expect out of you more than you’re willing to give. It’s as you said…so long as we have fun in the moment, that’s all that counts, right? If we go our separate ways after, it’s not a big deal.” She laughed a little. “I mean look at us…a long-term relationship of any kind is _not_ in the forecast. If you left tonight, I’d be a _little_ disappointed. You’re really quite good company when you’re not all threats and mood swings. But…you are free to do as you please, and I’ll find a way to enjoy myself regardless.”

He was watching her closely.

“Not a fan of the _mixed_ signals you’re giving me,” he noted. “One minute you’re pouty cos you think I’ll leave after I fuck ya, the next you’re wanting to play tonsil hockey with me.”

“I am sorry,” she repeated. “You being here has really, really thrown me for a loop. But…I think you were right in the car when you said I’m committed to seeing you a certain way. There is more to you than I gave you credit for. There’s more to you than _you_ give yourself credit for. I’m sort of…uncertain how to navigate this unorthodox relationship we’ve formed. And I _am_ thinking too much about it. So, yes, let’s focus on the fun. I’m actually…having quite a bit of it.”

“You _are_?”

His voice was thick with suspicion.

“Minus the concussions, shooting at random strangers, and overwhelming me with police tickets…yeah.”

She laughed a little, brushing some hair out of her face.

“I’m having fun,” she said again, glancing up at the sky. “What strange parallel universe have I wandered into?”

Joker’s spine stiffened at her admission. His frown was harsh, expression guarded.

_Oh…he doesn’t know how to respond to this branch of genuineness. He’s just as out of his element as I am mine, he just won’t ever admit to it. _

“Does that scare you?” she followed up, tilting her head. “That I sometimes enjoy your company?”

His jaw tightened.

“Feelings!” She rose both hands in the air and waved them around like she was a specter. “Intimacy! Communication! I am spooking the shit out of you, aren’t I?”

“You’re _not_,” he defended.

“Am too.”

“Are not.”

“Am too, times infinity.”

He was searching for a suitable response. Upon finding none, he resorted to his last resource: sticking his tongue out at her.

She attempted to snatch it with her fingers, but he was quicker; diving under her arm and clamping a hand over her mouth. His opposite arm slung around her waist and pulled her into his body. He clearly had a thing about having her as near to him as possible.

“Am _not_,” he repeated, smirking down at her.

Her response was muffled by his palm. She tried licking his skin, but that only made him ticklish. He giggled at the endeavor, until she reached up and jammed three fingers into his mouth.

She expected him to bite down, but he instead lathered her digits with his tongue.

“Ew,” she tried to state, yanking them out and rubbing them over her jeans.

“You keep behaving like a brat,” he murmured into her ear. “I’m gonna treat you like one.”

“Pfft, where do you think I learned it from?” she shot back, meeting his eyes.

“_Wayne_,” he deflected. “Biggest brat I can think of.”

“Mm…I don’t know, I think you could give him a run for his money.”

He abruptly pressed two fingers down on the bump in her temple.

“Ow!” She launched her elbow into his stomach, forcing him to release her. “Jackass.”

His laughter was giddy.

“Oh, you are _too_ _much_ fun, even when ya don’t intend to be,” he praised, rubbing his tummy.

“Let’s get what we need before I strangle you.”

“Promises, _promises_.”

As they made their way toward the entrance, Celine couldn’t help but marvel at the rollercoaster of emotions they both underwent in the past ten minutes alone. And that they worked through them and were back on amicable terms was just as amazing.

_I don’t think he’s looking to pick a fight. Neither am I for that matter. Keep the peace. Switzerland during both world wars, minus the Nazis. _

Upon entering the superstore, Joker’s eyes landed on the elderly worker struggling to stand up from her assigned chair.

“Welcome to Wal-Mart. Let me know if I can help you with anything.”

She barely batted an eye at Joker’s appearance, which had him cocking his head in contemplation. Were people from this state really just _that_ laid back? Or was everybody blind?

Celine’s gaze landed on the shopping cart area. Specifically, the motorized scooter nearest to them with a large basket hanging in front of it.

A devious idea infiltrated her brain.

“Thank you,” she said to the worker, looking up at Joker. “Let’s get a cart, _honey_.”

He arched a brow; immediately picking up on her playful tone.

She left his side and walked over to the scooter. Once she was properly seated and both hands were secured around the handles, she peered at Joker expectantly.

_There’s no way he’ll do it._

“Well?” She gestured at the cart with her head. “Hop in.”

Though his gaze had narrowed; a smirk was reforming on his lips.

“With _pleasure_.”

She bit her tongue to keep herself from laughing as he approached the front of the scooter, gripped onto the section of the handles she wasn’t touching, and jumped up backwards; his butt and half of his thighs fitting snugly into the basket.

The elderly woman’s mouth parted. She didn’t appear to know what to say.

“Thank you again,” Celine said.

With that, she pressed down on the throttle and began to drive.

“Where to first?” she asked.

She had to strain to see around him, but again, the store wasn’t all that busy and most of the aisles were pretty sparse. Likewise, she’d been coming to this place for over a decade. The layout was practically imprinted in the back of her head.

“Candy! No, no…cakes. Like the uh Little Debbie ones.”

“Snack aisle it is,” she accepted, picking up speed.

Just for fun, she began in the frozen foods section and proceeded to veer in and out of the aisles until they reached their destination. Joker’s feet pouring out of the basket was comical to witness, but what really had her stifling back giggles was the way he would raise his arms in the air each time they took a curve around an endcap to get to the next aisle.

“Weeee!” he’d proclaim, catching the attention of some curious shoppers.

When they got to the appropriate section, she slowed down the cart so he could languidly peruse the various cupcakes, brownies, swiss rolls, and just about everything sugary in between.

“There!”

She threw on the break, following his pointed finger.

_Hostess Twinkies_.

“Eight, ten, or twelve pack?”

“Mm…thirty-two.”

_Thirty-two!? It’s a wonder he’s able to stay in the shape he does. _

“Thirty-two twinkies, coming right up.”

She extended a hand and grabbed the party pack sitting on the bottom shelf. He practically snatched them out of her grasp the moment she had them, hugging the box securely to his chest as if it were a beloved stuffed animal.

“Where to next?”

“Your choice, sweets. I got all _I_ came for.”

“What about some clothes for you?” she offered. “Especially if you end up swimming or walking some trails with me.”

“Don’t mind doing either in the _nude_.”

She didn’t have to see his face to know he meant it.

“I’m getting you some clothes,” she confirmed, setting off again.

Just as they were nearing the end of the aisles, a tall, heavily-pimpled employee blocked their exit route. Despite the acne and side-swept bangs, he appeared to be closer to Celine and Joker’s age. She even thought she recognized him faintly from back in the day…perhaps just a few years below her in school. His nametag read:

** _Kyle White  
Assistant Manager_ **

“Ma’am, sir,” he addressed when she came to a halt a few feet from him. “The scooters are reserved for those that need it. I’m going to have to ask you to get off and use your feet like everyone else.”

The second he tried to take a step forward, Celine let her fingers do the thinking for her. She struck a switch that immediately had them reversing backwards.

Kyle White, Assistant Manager, blinked at them a few times. Joker merely offered him a pleasant wave.

When they finally backtracked all the way out of the aisle, Kyle began a brisk walk towards them.

“You’re going to want to hang on.”

Joker responded with an excited round of clapping.

What ensued was a chase for the ages. The scooter could accelerate at an impressive twenty-five miles per hour and accelerate Celine did. Through the food aisles, cutting a corner at the pet supplies, evading a second assistant manager who popped out in the automobile section (he’d been clued in via his walkie-talkie that there were hooligans at large), speeding past the baby and infant section, managing to shake off a third employee in the personal hygiene area (well, shake off was a tame term, more like he’d surprised them and in an attempt to make a successful escape, Joker ended up whipping his box of twinkies at the poor guy’s head; the corner of the box catching him square in between the eyes).

By the time all was said and done, it took fourteen employees total to corner them into the electronics section, Kyle at the helm of the inquisition.

“If you don’t remove yourselves from the scooter in ten seconds, I _will_ call the police.”

The gig, sadly, was up; much to Joker’s chagrin.

“The last thing I want is Gotham PD catching wind of this,” she whispered to him. “You don’t want our vacation to end before it begins, do you?”

She tried to appeal to what made him sneak into her car in the first place: curiosity.

“Mm…_fine_.”

He was deeply reluctant, but knew it beat the alternative.

Unfortunately, they really left a foul impression on Kyle White, Assistant Manager. Before they were escorted out of the store, he snapped a photo of each of them on his phone.

“I’m enforcing a lifetime ban on both of you,” he confirmed, adjusting his glasses. “Either of you ever step into my store again, I’m pressing charges.”

She was tugging on Joker’s hand before Kyle finished his sentence, knowing such a statement would only antagonize him into doing something…violent. It took a bit of force, but eventually he allowed himself to be led out.

Having never been banned by a local business before, Celine realized they would need to head forty minutes in the opposite direction to get to the second nearest Wal-Mart to Calgary Cliff. She would have been saltier about the situation, but she’d been the one to start it after all.

Throughout the duration of the drive to the city of Ellsworth, Joker made numerous attempts at convincing her to let him blow up the Wal-Mart in Higginsville. 

“You don’t even have to get your hands dirty; _I’ll_ do all the heavy lifting.”

“No.”

Ten seconds later.

“What if I-.”

“No.”

Two minutes later.

“Ya know I’m good at-.”

“No.”

He scowled and pouted and moaned and groaned but she held firm in her choice. With how densely rural her neck of the woods was, you needed to travel a sizable distance to get to another large supercenter. She wasn’t going to take that away from the local citizens, especially not during the winter when blizzards often made travel hazardous.

Their second time around shopping went much smoother than the first. Ellsworth being a city rather than town spiked up the traffic of people inside the store, and from the moment she grabbed a cart and headed to the grocery section, she knew they were being stared at.

But Joker seemed whole-heartedly content to ignore them, sticking by her side dutifully and actually giving some thought as to what he’d like to eat during his stay with her.

Which was why by the time they were done with the grocery shopping portion, her large cart was filled halfway with an assortment of cake-based snacks, tubs of ice cream (he was a sucker for Neapolitan), an array of chocolate and gummy-based candies, some bags of chips that shared the commonality of heat (she gave in to temptation and grabbed a bag of her favorite Cheddar and Sour Cream Ruffles), five various handmade pies, at least seven different cereals, a large bag of marshmallows and graham crackers, extra buttery popcorn, and two 24 packs of bottled water (the tap water at home had always held an aftertaste of iron she wasn’t all that fond of).

Picking out clothes for Joker went easier than she anticipated. Despite his signature suit, tie, and vest; he wasn’t all that picky with what he chose to wear. Their cart accumulated quite a few sweatpants, a couple of dark blue jeans (secretly, she couldn’t wait to see him in them), white, gray, and black t-shirts, one wifebeater, two packages of socks, a pair of sandals (he protested against them, but she assured him spending as much time at the beach as they would he’d need them for convenience sake), three pairs of colorful swimming trunks, and three packages of boxers he personally picked out (the graphic design on them had to give him a laugh).

For herself, she grabbed five or six Hawaiian shirts that caught her eye.

Joker snorted at the choices.

“_Really_?”

She shrugged, fighting down a smile.

“I actually have a growing collection of them at the house,” she revealed. “Shortly after I turned thirty, they suddenly became very appealing to me. Though…wearing them makes me feel like a middle-aged father of three.”

This admission made him re-examine her. Whatever it was he was thinking, he kept to himself.

The last of the shopping was mostly for miscellaneous items. Toilet paper, lighter fluid, matches, ground beef, butter, bread, shredded cheese, tomato sauce, toothbrush, shampoo for him, and sunglasses (he had to try on nearly every single one on the stand, and even then he couldn’t decide between three of them…so she had him put all of them inside the cart, lest they be there until closing time).

He was surprised when she led them into the kid’s section of the store.

“I want to try something a little different this year for my mushroom trip,” she explained, scanning over the items. “I’m going to play with what I used to when I was young…_before_ I was pushed to grow up and stop being childish. Most adults think playing with toys is beneath them…a sign of immaturity…but toys have no other purpose than to make you happy…make your imagination run wild. And…I didn’t get to be a child for as long as I wanted to.”

Joker didn’t respond to this, but his stare was sobering, and his mouth slanted down a little.

_He knows exactly what I’m talking about._

She ended up settling on the boardgame _Candyland_, two bottles of bubble blowers along with a bubble blowing gun, a variety of acrylic paints and a paintbrush kit, a little handheld device that played three old school arcade games – _Frogger_, _Pac-Man_, and _Donkey Kong_, and a yellow and orange Nerf gun that could fire three darts per round (she bought a pack of 64 darts to accompany it).

Her companion hardly said a word as she picked everything out. She got the feeling she’d unintentionally made him return to a place he didn’t care to be.

_His childhood shaped him significantly. Maybe I should have done this shopping on my own time. _

It didn’t help that each child they passed would stop whatever they were doing and stare at him, some looking like they wanted to laugh, others glancing at their parent with a concerned expression before the parent would usher them away to another aisle.

Joker’s true feelings about children’s toys was expressed just before they departed from the area for good.

There were four narrow beams attached to the store floor that extended quite high up. Thick, black netting encased the space between the beams, and within the netting there was at least seventy to eighty large, multi-colored rubber balls. Just as they were passing the structure, Joker slipped out a knife, flicked the blade open, and proceeded to slice through five feet of netting; effectively creating a domino effect as all of the balls poured out through the large gash he’d created.

As they nonchalantly walked away, she dared not make any sort of disparaging remark. If his feelings were as murky as she suspected them to be, placing blame would only exacerbate his temper. They were nearing the end of the day and he’d only held a knife to her throat once. Once was good. Once was excellent.

His spirits did improve upon witnessing a handful of employees sprint past them toward the kids section. And he even managed out a smile when she stopped at the last aisle she needed to browse before checkout.

Fireworks.

She of course got some high-end sparklers, smoke bombs, roman candles, bottle rockets (_technically_ these were illegal to set off in Maine, but she lived in such a reclusive area that no one was really there to complain about it), strobes, peonies, and king crossettes.

The excitement in Joker’s eyes was growing with each addition to the cart.

“Much as I ah appreciate a gorgeous explosion…or _six_,” he mentioned, “why pay for them when I can make them for free?”

“People have a habit of dying when you’re involved.”

He scoffed.

“_Their_ fault for getting in the way.”

To his credit, he did pick out a handful of heavy-duty ones she’d never seen lit before. Something told her this summer’s firework show would be unlike any other.

When they finally managed to get to the self-checkout area, she was practically using all of her strength to push the cart along. And when scanning and bagging each item, he made no move to assist her; content watching with both hands clasped behind him.

People around them stared of course, but no one was motivated enough to confront them. It was a reflection of rural folks’ mentality versus city folks. The former was far more likely to keep their opinions to themselves, the latter emboldened to blurt whatever was on their mind.

It was when she was ringing up the final item that Joker smacked his forehead.

“Almost _forgot_,” he said. “Be a doll and go get me some shaving cream, will ya?”

She was feeling the exhaustion of the day seep in but nodded, nevertheless.

Upon returning thirty seconds later, she was stunned by the scene before her. Joker was signing the payment pad, tongue peeking out through his teeth. In between index finger and middle he was clutching a burgundy credit card.

_Shut the French door. Is he…paying?_

Not a moment later and a lengthy receipt was being ejected from the checkout machine. The total had not been…_cheap_, but she hadn’t minded; it wasn’t like she was spending it all on herself.

“Did you just do what I think you did?” she asked, glancing between the pay pad, the bagged groceries, and Joker.

“Mm…yeah?”

Before he pocketed the card, she plucked it out of his hand. It was more for curiosity’s sake. Who did he even bank with? Would the name on the front say _The Joker_? _Jack?_

Her brows furrowed together.

“Bruno Caspian?” she read out loud in gold lettering.

On the upper left-hand corner was the name of the bank the card hailed from.

** _ING Belgium_ **

“Not yours?” she confirmed, looking up at him.

“_Nope_.” He stole it back from her, eyeing it proudly. “Fella I got this from was ah the _first_ mob boss I ever killed. This was back when I wasn’t making such a…_spectacle_ of my targets. Pulled it off so well his underlings still think he’s alive…I sort-ah…_borrowed_ his identity for a time to fund some personal projects. As far as his colleagues are aware, he’s operating part-time off a private island in Oceania; mostly enjoying retirement. Only use this puppy for emergencies…situations that even get _me_ sweating.”

There was so much she wanted to say. Did he deem this an emergency? Why? How much had this mob boss accumulated in personal earnings? How had he killed the mob boss? How often did he draw money out? What sort of situations, if any, could make someone like him sweat?

So lost in these musings was she that she hardly noticed Joker taking the can of shaving cream out of her hand and slipping it in one of the plastic bags.

“Bruno Caspian,” she repeated, blinking rapidly. “It sounds like a pirate. Or…a porn star.”

Joker waggled his eyebrows.

“I _like_ where this conversation is heading.”

She rolled her eyes, then studied him a little more seriously.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Duh.”

He pocketed the card.

She was so tempted to place a hand on his shoulder but didn’t want to press her luck. Internally, however, she was reeling in the best way possible.

_“Ask him to do something for you. Inherently, love is not a selfish emotion. If he does what you ask for no one’s benefit but your own…there may still be hope.”_

She hadn’t even asked…he just…_did it_. The why still wasn’t clear…he could very well be trying to further his agenda to bed her. At this point, did it matter? There was hope, wasn’t there? _Wasn’t there?_

“Thank you,” she said, intentionally averting her gaze and wrapping her fingers around the cart’s handle.

He didn’t answer, and she was fine with that.

As soon as they returned to the car, Joker threw open the passenger door and got inside, closing the door after him. Apparently, his aid had reached its limitation.

She popped open the trunk and began unloading the groceries. With how much there was, she might need to utilize the backseat as well.

It was about halfway through this venture that a familiar voice shouted her name.

She turned and was rewarded with a welcome sight.

“Anthony?”

He half-jogged over to her from his truck. She wandered the remaining distance toward him, lips peeling back into a warm smile.

When they were within a few feet of each other, he scooped her up into a tight hug; causing a laugh to stumble out of her as she circled her arms around his neck.

One of her oldest friends – and an essential member of the crew she’d hung out with growing up – was by no means a short individual. Roughly six foot three, he was equipped with an impressive mane of thick, dark brown hair that extended down to just below his chest. A well-trimmed beard and groomed-mustache gave him lumberjack vibes; bolstered further by the plaid buttoned ups he never outgrew wearing. Classic rock was his passion and he was almost always geared up in some t-shirt of a band from back of the day; this time being no different as the band Van Halen proudly stretched across his chest. Remove the long sleeves and one would find an impressive amount of tattoos scattered up and down his toned arms, mostly comic book and movie-inspired, though he had a distinctive thing for tree roots, branches, and home pride for their state.

“It’s so good to see you,” she said into his shoulder, peering up when he finally released her. “What’re you doing so far north? You and Kayla still live in Calgary Cliff, right?”

Nervousness clouded his expression. He scratched the back of his head, laughing a little.

“Well, I’m here for mom. She needed a very specific tiller for the garden and the local hardware places were all sold out. Labor of love, you know how it is.”

She did. Anthony was the type of person to go the extra mile for those he cared for.

“And Kayla…we ah…well, everyone else knows already…but we filed for divorce in April. It was finalized about three weeks ago.”

“You did?” She backed up a step and re-scanned him. “I’m sorry to hear that, you guys were always so well-suited for each other.”

She wasn’t lying either. They’d been high school sweethearts throughout all four years of school, and though Kayla wasn’t a member of their original crew, she would often hang out with them because Anthony had a difficult time being apart from her.

At the time, Kayla’s presence agitated Celine only because…well…she had liked Anthony. _A lot_. To this day, he was the only person she’d have married without hesitance.

She always had found him so cool, so easy to relax around. He was one of the few people who was patient with her when her mental health hit a low. Hour-long, late night conversations in his or her car or over the telephone weren’t uncommon. He was the person who taught her how to ride a motorcycle; a vehicle that was his staple all the way until he sold it to help pay for the extravagant wedding Kayla wanted.

To hear that the ultimate power-couple from her hometown were no longer together made her feel bad for them both. Kayla stopped being a threat in Celine’s eyes after she had gone away to college and got her much-needed reality check. Hell, they ended up becoming so close she was a bridesmaid at their wedding.

“What happened…if you don’t mind me asking.”

He shrugged with one shoulder.

“We’ve been growing apart for years, honestly,” he admitted. “We just…knew too much about each other. There was no…newness. No…spontaneity. Traits that we used to love in one another…suddenly we were annoyed by them. It was actually on our seven-year wedding anniversary that we sat down and had a long talk. It was mutual…amicable. Sorry it happened, but glad it was finally acknowledged. I’m looking forward to things for the first time in a long while. And…I…was looking forward to you coming back this summer too.”

She stiffened. The look he showered her with was impossible to misinterpret.

_You’re kidding me. I pine after his butt from childhood to early adulthood and now…now he wants to give romance a go?_

She couldn’t fault him for the timing, he had chosen who he thought he was going to spend the rest of his life with. And she…she needed to experience all that she did to become the person she was today.

It was just that…the timing really couldn’t be any poorer. And she didn’t think she could love him as wholeheartedly as she had when she’d been a teenager.

Clearing her throat, she redirected the conversation; pushing down the urge to peek over her shoulder.

_Please let him be on the phone. _

“So, Lisa was telling me that drive-in north of town is having a horror movie marathon? That’s pretty awesome, I don’t think we’ve all sat down in our cars like that since that diner with the carhops on rollerblades went out of business.”

“Sound about right,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “It’ll be nice to see everyone again, works got me hauling deliveries all over Maine. I don’t really get the chance to sit down and relax for more than a few days. Speaking of horror movies…”

He approached her, lowering his head as if he were letting in on some juicy gossip.

“Rumor around Calgary Cliff is there’s been a Stephen King spotting.”

“Pfft.” She rolled her eyes. “Everyone and their mothers have claimed to see him in the area…I mean we’ve had alleged sightings of him since we were kids…still no evidence. I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

He smirked.

“Trina saw him.”

Her mouth dropped open.

“The hell she did.”

“As clearly as you’re seeing me,” he assured. “For obvious reasons, she couldn’t yell to get his attention. And by the time she got her phone out to snap a picture of him, he was gone.”

Another one of their original crew members – Katrina “Trina” – was one of the most honest, reliable people either of them knew. Out of everyone, she’d always been the most responsible…the one who abstained from drinking and often ended up the designated driver…the “mother” of the group who made sure her kids didn’t end up in irreversible trouble.

If Anthony claimed Trina saw Stephen King in Calgary Cliff…she couldn’t immediately write it off, much as she wanted to.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” she settled on. “If there’s ever sightings of him, it’s usually in the Portland area. I don’t know what he’d been doing around here.”

“Scouting locations for a new book?” he guessed. “Either way, it’s got Calgary Cliff in a buzz. Even my mom – you know how much of a shut-in she is – _even_ she’s been out and about more lately, never without her binoculars.”

“I’d think James Patterson would be more her style.”

He glanced once in each direction before lowering his tone.

“I stopped by for dinner last Thursday and accidentally found that book everyone’s raving about…50 Shades of Grey…you ever read it?”

She chuckled, biting her lip.

“No…I prefer my erotica…_classier_. Didn’t Trina say it was based off a Twilight fanfiction?”

Trina was also a wildly talented writer, be it poetry, essays, or fiction. Before publishing her philosophical works and her short story “Dante”, Celine had sent the drafts of each piece to be constructively criticized by her friend. She came away all the better for it.

“Ugh, fanfiction.” His eyes briefly looked to the sky, as if attempting to locate God. “Just a bunch of horny teenagers publishing their sexual fantasies to other hornier teenagers. I can’t believe you guys used to read that stuff.”

_Used to? Oh, Anthony you poor noodle…if only you knew. _

“Yeah.” She laughed nervously. “I can’t believe we did either.”

There was a moment of silence in which she was staring down at her feet and Anthony was soaking in her face. It was getting dark enough out now that her fading bruises weren’t as noticeable as they’d been when Lucien glimpsed them.

“So…I’ve got a full week off starting today. I’m not sure what you’ve got planned tonight, but if you’re at all interested in coming by…I wouldn’t mind your company. We can smoke a little, catch up, I even got a new hunting bow you can try out.”

“Anthony, I-.” She looked up at him, struggling to find the right words. “-can’t. I brought home a friend who’ll be staying with me for the week and…I sort of wanted to show him around…let him get the full coastal Maine experience. My heart’s pretty set on spending most of my vacation with him.”

He wasn’t shy about masking his disappointment, and she felt it along with him. He really had been looking forward to seeing her again this summer…to finally address some feelings she hadn’t realized had been stored inside him.

“Damn…little Cece’s all grown up,” he tried to tease. “Half of us were convinced you’d never settle down with someone.”

“Let me guess…you all placed bets.”

“_Heh_…well…yeah. Lisa, Nathan, and I are gonna be out $50 come Tuesday.”

“Serves you assholes right,” she beamed, crossing her arms. “To be fair, I’ve not settled down…this friend is just a friend, nothing more.”

Hope immediately animated his features.

_Shit…that’s not what I meant to do._

“I mean there’s something there,” she corrected. “But for the moment, we’re just friends.”

He nodded, opening his mouth to respond.

Behind her, a car door slammed shut so loudly everyone in the near vicinity turned to look at the source of the sound.

Celine was the only one that didn’t need to. What felt like lava slowly started to trickle down her spine.

She could tell by Anthony’s facial expressions when Joker was just a few feet behind her. His brow was low, his eyes narrowed, and one hand hovered at the holster attached to his hip carrying his legally obtained concealed firearm.

Rough, calloused fingers suddenly wrapped around the back of her neck. Joker appeared at her side not a second later.

“What’s the hold _up_?”

She gently took Joker’s wrist and removed his hand from her neck. The last thing she needed was him in full blown territorial mode. Anthony may have felt safe having a gun on him, but that safety was an illusion. He had no idea what sort of threat Joker posed, and she hoped he would never have to find out.

“Hey, sorry,” she amended, glancing at him. “I ran into one of my old friends from the group I used to hang out with. Jack, this is Anthony. Anthony, this is my friend Jack I was telling you about.”

Neither extended a hand to shake.

“The hell happened to your face?”

Her eyes squeezed shut, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose.

_Dear fuck almighty, Anthony, subtlety **is** a virtue. _

“You really wanna know?” Joker’s voice was the definition of sinister. “Might _ah_ end up blowing your brains out with that _cheap_ little pistol at your side if I tell ya.”

The insult did its job. Anthony gritted his teeth, wrapping his fingers around the handle of his gun.

“Knock it off, both of you,” she snapped, eying each of them firmly. “Anthony, Jack served in Afghanistan, he doesn’t like talking about his injuries. Keep that in mind before you speak. Jack, don’t be an ass, this is one of my oldest friends and you _will_ accept that. Now, let’s get going before the ice cream all melts. Anthony…it was nice seeing you and I hope to again Tuesday. Tell your mom I said hi.”

She was practically pushing Joker by the abdomen toward her car, the clown making it as difficult as he could for her.

“You need help loading up the rest of your groceries?” Anthony asked. “Doesn’t look like…Jack was of any help to you earlier.”

_Sweet Lucifer I’m going to bash someone’s skull in. Probably my own. _

Because her hand was so close to Joker’s chest, she could feel the vibrations of the growl he was struggling not to emit.

“No thank you, Anthony. I’m a big girl, I can load a cart of groceries up just fine. I’ll see you Tuesday, okay?”

His nod was reluctant.

“I-yeah…okay. Sorry if I came across as rude…um…see ya Tuesday.”

Before Joker could comment, she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him after her.

Once at the trunk, she released a deep sigh and started loading in what was left of the groceries. This time, Joker remained just a few feet from her, occasionally glaring at Anthony who was taking his sweet time getting into his truck.

“Funny, isn’t it,” he remarked lowly, “that he thinks he stands a chance with you.”

She hung her head but didn’t answer.

“He doesn’t, does he?” He gripped her by the waist, pushing his front into her back. “You were a good girl and told him you were off limits, hm?”

“Jack, get off,” she ordered quietly.

His fingernails dug into her skin.

“I _don’t_ share, Cece.” His scars kept brushing against her earlobe which in turn made her knees weak. “You have one try left to get that lesson through to him. Then…_then_ it’ll be my turn. And I can gua-_ran_-**_teee_ **you’re not gonna like my method of education. We understand one another?”

“He is _just_ a friend,” she returned. “That lesson isn’t necessary to teach him.”

“Oh it very, _very_ much is,” he rumbled back, thumbs rubbing deep circles just above her hips. “Trying to invite you over to…cat-**ch** _up_? Crying to you about his divorce? You’re not dumb…or maybe I gave you _too_ much credit.”

She twisted around and grasped him by the jaw.

“Seeing as you heard nearly everything, you _also_ heard me say I was yours for the week, correct?”

His only answer was expelling some air form his nose.

“I thought so. Which means your behavior is _completely_ uncalled for. I am seeing him Tuesday, it will be with the rest of my other friends, I do have a right to catch up with him, and you are going to get inside the damned car before all of the ice cream melts. Do _we_ understand one another?”

She was too irritated with him to worry about the consequences of issuing such a command. Agatha had warned he could harbor possessive feelings toward her, but this…this was just flat out stupid, alpha-wannabe behavior. He knew better, he was just pretending he didn’t to start something. She didn’t have the patience for it, not this late in the day anyway.

Joker knocked her grip off him, grabbed her by the back of the head, and shoved his tongue into her mouth. There was nothing pleasant about the kiss; it was a blatant display of dominance. From his perspective, he couldn’t control a situation…a person…so the next option was to enforce his will, his feelings onto the individual.

She bit his tongue as a warning to get the hell out of her mouth, and he listened, though not without piercing her bottom lip with his teeth until blood bloomed to the surface, and then lapping it up like a satisfied predator.

She shoved at his chest, which made him release a few cackles.

“Silly Ce-_cee_,” he sing-songed. “Thinking I was gonna run off back to Gotham after fucking her. If she only _knew_ what I had in store for her.”

Her face paled slightly.

_Well, that answered that earlier anxiety. _

“Please…Jack…the ice cream.”

She gestured helplessly at the groceries.

“Mm…_fine_.”

Her body relaxed only when he was safely inside the car. Both hands massaged her cheeks, then forehead, then scalp.

_I have to tread carefully. No mentioning Anthony in any capacity. Which isn’t fair, but I’m not in a normal predicament with a normal person, am I?_

Exhaling sharply, she loaded the rest of the groceries into the car. _He’s my soulmate _she kept having to remind herself. His reaction – while needlessly extreme – was understandable. Coupled with an insatiable attraction to violence and she was really very lucky things didn’t escalate worse than they had. That’s what she _needed_ to focus on.

x_X_x_X_x

The drive back was done in relative silence, save for some Pearl Jam blaring in the background. The mood in the car was tense, but she kept her concentration on the darkening sky above her and the setting sun. The only time Joker chose to break the silence was when he reached out and stroked the side of her cheek with a thumb.

When she looked at him, he was wearing a contemplative expression.

“You afraid of me, Cece?”

He almost seemed boastful asking the question.

“No,” she answered truthfully. “Am I afraid of what you’re capable of? Yes. Am I afraid you’ll take it out on my friends or family? Yes. But you? No…I’m not afraid of you.”

“Hm.” He sounded surprised. “Good.”

They said nothing more and at just a little past ten o’clock, were pulling into her driveway. As per usual, he left her to bring the groceries inside and put them all away.

Upon a scan inside the refrigerator, she noticed some trout, shrimp, and salmon neatly separated. Lucien _had_ delivered and this elevated her mood significantly. Knowing someone so thoughtful looked out for her never not filled her with joy.

“Bless you, Uncle Lu,” she said to herself.

When all was said and done, Celine was ready for an intimate date with her bed and pillow. She found Joker in the living room, occupying a comfortable plush sofa. His eyes were closed, legs spread, and both hands were clasped, one index finger sporadically wagging back and forth.

“Did you want me to fix you something up before I head to bed?”

He acted as if he hadn’t heard her. Which was fine by her, she was much too exhausted to battle for his attention.

“Okay.” She rubbed her forearm. “All your clothes are in mom’s room. If you want to shower, go ahead…I left soap and a towel in there for you. And toothpaste if you need it. Um…good night, I guess. I’ll…see you tomorrow?”

When he failed to so much as glance in her direction, she exited the room; trying not to take his silence too personally.

Before tiredness took her to the land of slumber and vivid dreams, a few last-minute thoughts raced through her head.

_Today was encouraging, even if it didn’t necessarily end that way. I saw Jack…well, glimpsed him at least. And he paid for all the groceries…then threatened Anthony, but that ultimately couldn’t be helped. He likes it when it’s just us and…I do too. He’s comfortable around me. And I’m…getting to be…comfortable around…him._

She was out like a burnt lightbulb in a matter of minutes.

Joker waited another half hour before standing up from the couch and making his way to Celine’s room.

He quietly opened the door and softly walked over to her bed; head tilted as he examined her.

She was unaware that he’d thieved some sleeping pills off a shelf earlier at the store when she wasn’t paying attention. She was unaware that he’d crushed two of the pills up and slipped it into her water bottle when she was loading the car up with groceries. She was unaware that that’s what sent her to bed so early and would keep her there for at least the next twelve hours.

“Sweet dreams, Cece,” he murmured, brushing some hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear. He then thumbed her bruised, bottom lip, licking his own lips as he did so.

When she was well and truly sedated, he went over to her dresser, grabbed the car keys resting atop, and just as quietly exited he room, whistling to himself.


	29. Chapter 29

Returning to consciousness was a groggy affair. Every bone in her body longed to permanently meld itself into the bed sheets until she was one with the mattress. And really, was that such a terrible fate?

_Non, I should like to be a mattress afloat in a sea in the next life._

Her cell phone rang halfway throughout her musings and a hand shot out to grab it off the nightstand.

“Lo?” she mumbled, massaging the lethargy out of her eyes.

“Hey, Cee, catch you at a bad time?”

She glanced at the alarm clock. The numbers were one horizontal blur. She blinked a few times to make sense of what she was seeing.

_The last month and a half had to have caught up with me. Is it illegal to marry a mattress? My mental stability might be called into question, but at least I’d be comfy._

“Nah, Leese, you’re fine. What’s up?”

“Just wanted to make sure you were still up for getting together Tuesday. We were thinking of doing a couple rounds at Dunkirk before the drive thru...for old time’s sake.”

Her eyes widened a little. A smile crept onto her lips.

“Yeah?” She turned onto her back and stared up at the ceiling fan. “We haven’t done Dunkirk in ages, I’m down. Though I gotta ask…what prompted the idea? Are all of you secretly out to get me?”

A snort was her immediate response.

“You could only be so lucky…or important,” she teased. “Honestly, it was Anthony’s idea. He came by the bakery this morning with the suggestion. And I won’t lie…it will be nice to let loose some pent-up aggression. Never, ever, ever, _ever_ open up a business with your husband. Not unless you want to spend hours mentally detailing his hypothetical murder.”

“Duly noted. No business ventures with the husband.”

“Speaking of…Anthony told me you brought a guy home with you. That’s not true, is it?”

She smirked softly.

“Sucks to be out $50 doesn’t it?”

“He told you?”

“I always suspected…but yeah…he told me. He and Jack…didn’t get off on the best footing.”

An ‘_ahhh_’ of realization left her mouth.

“It’s all starting to make sense. He wants to take your boyfriend to Hurtsville, at the dead center of Humiliation County.”

“He’s not my-.” She hesitated. Would it work better in Anthony’s favor if she encouraged the lie? Yes, she and Joker were together, and no, they had no intention of splitting up anytime soon. It nauseated her to consider, but the ends justified the means, right? That end being Anthony _not_ meeting his. “-I don’t know what to call our relationship. We haven’t asked each other out, but the interest in one another is mutual.”

“So…fuck buddies?”

“Eh…hasn’t progressed to that yet.”

“Hmmm…intriguing. I can’t wait to meet him.” She sounded as if she were shifting the phone to her opposite ear. “And Cee? It’s not that we never thought you’d find someone…it’s just that…you deserved someone who was at your level, you know? Not many people are.”

“I-that’s not true. I’m just…unnecessarily fussy.”

“You have standards,” she corrected. “Anthony, bless his soul, doesn’t understand that. Secretly, I think _he_ thinks you were waiting for him to divorce Kayla. If you finally found someone that’s worthy of your attention, more power to you. I…really am happy for you.”

She was momentarily at a loss for words.

_Don’t look too much into it, she doesn’t know Jack, not really. If she did, she would warn me to run for the hills and never stop. _

“I appreciate it,” she settled on. “I’ll give Anthony a call to clear the air. If he thinks he stands a chance at beating Jack, he’s in for a rude awakening.”

“Oooh, juicy.” She sounded downright thirsty for some drama. “Ah shoot…sorry Cee, I gotta get going. Can’t wait to see you Tuesday!”

“Me neither. See ya then.”

She hung up and stared at nothing for a couple of minutes. Partially on autopilot, she dialed Anthony’s number.

When he didn’t pick up after the first try, she sent him a text to give her a call when he was able.

Now that Dunkirk had been factored into the equation, she was able to understand a little better where Anthony’s head was at.

Dunkirk was of course in reference to the rustic paintball park that’d been designed and constructed two decades earlier in a spacious patch of meadow just east of Calgary Cliff. Everyone had called it Arlo’s Park after the chain-smoking hippie who ran and operated it (and on the downlow sold pot on the side to those fortunate enough to be deemed “groovy”). The reason the park was known as Dunkirk amongst her friends is because of an epic paintball battle that had went down one summer between Celine’s crew and the crew of their archnemesis at the time, Beth.

Celine’s friends – Nathan and Lisa – after attempting to do a bold sneak attack, ended up stranded behind enemy lines. The remaining group embarked on a ballsy suicide mission to retrieve them and by a miracle ended up successful. Because of this victory – like that of the Allies during World War II – they referred to the park from then on as Dunkirk.

Anthony wanting to add paintballing as an activity to Tuesday’s reunion signaled he was committed to showing off his prowess, his accuracy…his suitability for her over Jack. Any summer prior to this one and the action would have been considered romantic…now however…she couldn’t help but think how deep of a hole he was digging himself. The worst part was he didn’t even know it, and she hadn’t the explanation to make him understand.

_Hey Anthony, you might wanna cool your jets, Jack is a psychopathic anarchist who murders and destroys people and property for the fun of it…awesome, thank you, have a nice rest of your day. _

Her lips twitched.

_I need to set things straight if he calls back. For his sake._

She got out of bed and immediately decided to brew a pot of coffee. Generally, on her holidays back home she tried to avoid the caffeine-heavy drink. It was something reserved for Gotham…for work…for being a busy beaver on the go. Coming back home was about slowing down, taking a leave of absence from responsibility and productivity. 

But with her planned mushroom trip today, she wanted to go in as alert as possible. Granted, on their own psychedelics tended to last roughly eight to fourteen hours, sometimes longer depending on a) the intensity of the trip b) other substances used to prolong it, and c) the amount consumed.

All that said, there were some things she needed to arrange prior to the trip kicking in and coffee was the route to do it.

Before putting on a pot, she checked her mom’s bedroom for Joker. The room was empty, and the bed didn’t look like it’d been slept in.

“Huh.”

She checked the spare bedroom, the bathrooms (the towel she’d left for him lay folded and untouched), the mudroom, the living room, the kitchen, and peeked out at both porches. He was nowhere to be found. Stranger yet, her car was still parked in the same place. If he truly decided to dip out on her, she wouldn’t have pegged him to leave on foot. And certainly not before watching her trip out; after all he’d been so eager about being there for it.

_He’s done nothing but subvert my expectations these past twenty-four hours. If he left…then that’s all there is to it. Don’t harp on it too much, it’ll only cause me to overthink and negatively influence the trip. _

She decided – after getting everything prepped for rest of the day – that she would give the beach a final scan. Who knew, maybe he was making sand angels…sand clowns…clown angels…_gah_...she’d still not decided on a name for his version.

One cup later and the sluggishness of the morning was finally wearing off.

At just a little past noon her first order of business was getting everything she’d bought the day prior in its proper place. She’d learned early on from her mistakes- trying to locate objects on shrooms was like searching for a lighter that was in your hand the entire time, but you hadn’t the awareness to check it.

Similarly, a difficult concept to relay to those who’ve never partook in psychedelics is that on them, time simply…_ceased_…to…exist. The first hour was the only stretch you could process minutes passing by. After that…once the seatbelt had been tightened and you really began to gain momentum up the rollercoaster…hours blended into each other until everything was nothing _but_ the present moment.

Case and point, her second acid trip occurred the day of her high school graduation. Her friends had gathered at Anthony’s place to celebrate and have a bonfire in the evening. As per usual, Trina stayed sober to trip sit them.

Somewhere between hour four and hour five her friend Fonzie went to his car to grab his pack of cigarettes.

He returned _two_ hours later, attached to Trina’s hand.

Upon being questioned about his absence a few days later, he admitted that on a whim he’d flipped down his car’s visor mirror to see how dilated his pupils were. He then proceeded to have a two-hour long conversation with himself, which from his perspective, felt astronomically less. Like a half hour had passed between sitting down and Trina coming to retrieve him.

Knowing how time worked while immersed in such a state, Celine always made sure items and objects were easy to find and were set in places that made sense, even if her reality didn’t.

Her second order of business was whipping up a hearty breakfast. Forgetting to eat was another side-effect, at least in all her experiences. Something about riding that mushroom high killed her appetite entirely. And attempting to cook while tripping your balls off was not something she recommended (lest you had someone sober to monitor you).

After quickly washing and drying the dishes, she set about rummaging through everything she’d bought in the kids section at Wal-Mart and placing them in appropriate, sensible areas. The Nerf and bubble gun were last to be rehomed; ending up slung through the coat hooks by the front door. Just in case she had an…_intruder_.

She then went about distributing water bottles in various, easy to see locations. Just like food, hydration was a must when your mind was elsewhere for such a lengthy period of time.

Unsure if she wanted to have a fire later in the evening – fires were one of the most hypnotizing visuals to witness in such a state – she elected on setting the matches, lighter fluid, BBQ lighter, one of the bundles of wood Lucien dropped off, and some old newspapers near the firepit.

Her last few tasks included making her bed, throwing some extra blankets on the living room couch just in case she decided to watch TV, pocketing a compact mirror, opening up some windows to let the breeze in, and lastly but not leastly, sitting down and pre-rolling three joints. This task was nearly impossible when you hit the peak. She _could_ do it, she just preferred not too…it’s not what she wanted to focus her concentration on when there was so much else to experience.

Once everything was as well prepped as it could be (she never forgot…trips were unpredictable, and she might not end up doing any of the activities set out for her) she lathered on some sunscreen for her trek through the woods and opened up Steph’s brown bag of magic mushrooms.

Keeping in mind her warning that they were a little bit more potent than usual, she elected on eating eleven thick gray ones saturated with splotches of indigo; topped off with a thick, wide cap whose underside bore a few specs of black, emerald, and dark yellow.

“So pretty,” she couldn’t but murmur upon viewing the caps. Something told her Steph would be receiving a very genuine thank you when all was said and done.

After scarfing down two handfuls, she made sure to knock back a healthy amount of water. There was no beating around the bush, magic mushrooms had a tendency to smell and taste like stinky feet. There were a few tricks to getting around the taste. Some people, like her, took a shot of something to get them down. Some people – she’d tried this method only a couple of times – added them on top of a pizza, or better yet, brewed them into tea. Others immediately placed them in between their molars and ground them down until they were rubbery, near-tasteless chunks ready to be gulped back.

For ten minutes she was lost in a bit of a trance; eyes closed, arms hugging herself, head tilted to the side, humming a little under her breath. Though it would take forty-five minutes to an hour and a half for the side-effects to begin kicking in in a noticeable way, already, she could feel parts of her body – primarily the more intuitive version of her - respond. As if it was aware of what had just been ingested and rubbed its metaphorical hands together at what awaited. Simply put, she was giddy. And when her phone rang, she failed to hide it.

“Hey Wesley! What’s up?”

“_HeyCelinehi_,” he said, speaking so quickly his words came out a jumbled mess. “I couldn’t send this to you over text message because it was just too damn exciting, I had to tell you in person. Or…over the phone, which is like in person, just um…minus the person. Heh.”

She smiled at the enthusiasm in his tone.

“I’m all ears,” she promised. “Or I hope I am anyway.”

“Okay, okay, oh-_kay_…so remember how we were going back and forth earlier in the week on what to do in Southern Asia?”

For a moment, she was utterly lost. Then, it hit her.

_The three-month excursion around the world. Duh. Agreeing to go feels like ages ago._

“I remember. Kathmandu, Sri Lanka, Darjeeling…did you have another place in mind?”

She got the impression – despite not being able to physically see him – that he was barely restraining the urge to bounce up and down. Through the phone alone, his energy was palpable. Or maybe that was just the extrasensory part of her revving up.

“He’s going to be there. _In_ India. While we’re in the area. Giving a speech at an international university…a speech that’s open to the public. The public! That’s us!”

Celine was trying hard to keep up.

“Who’s going to-.” Her mouth dropped open, realization sinking in. “_Are you serious?!?!_”

“I wouldn’t be on the verge of losing my marbles if I wasn’t,” he relayed. “He’s going to be there, Celine. _The_ Dalai Lama. I haven’t read what topic he’ll be discussing or if it’ll be a teaching or a reading or what…my brain sorta short-circuited and then I called you and now here we are.”

She ran a hand through her hair and shook her head. Despite the growing excitement of the past week whenever they discussed where exactly they planned to hit up in those three months, no event thus far had her repressing the urge to squeal like a schoolgirl. No event until now.

“We’re going,” she confirmed. “There’s no ifs, ands, or buts about it.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” His voice finally descended a little, breaths catching up with him. “I gotta cut this short unfortunately, lunch break is almost over, and these kids are pretty punctual to class. I just…I wanted to share that with you…give you something to really look forward to.”

“Thank you, Wes.” She grinned into the phone, unsure what to do with the hand not holding it. “I…I tend to forget that this expedition is real…to be able to see so much of the world in such a short span of time…it’s like a lifelong longing come true. Um, I won’t keep you…just…thanks for the heads up and yes, we aren’t missing him speak for the world.”

Wesley’s goodbye was hasty, but no part of her took it personally.

They were going to see the Dalai Lama. In person. And he would be speaking to them. In person. And she’d do her best not to faint. _In_ person.

She giggled to herself, clutching the phone to her chest.

“How cool.”

The squeak of a door snatched her attention. Intrigued, she exited her bedroom.

What she saw upon entering the living room had her heart physically stuttering. Coupled with what she had just learned moments ago, and her emotions were a little bit…_delicate_.

At the entryway of the porch facing the cliffs stood Joker. No shirt in sight. Sand caked onto his feet. Greenish dark blonde locks sopping wet with salt water. Clad only in a pair of bright yellow swimming trunks with little porcupines and cactuses strewn all over.

She didn’t know where to look first. She didn’t know if she should even look. _Specifically,_ his face. His swim must have been lengthy for all that remained of his greasepaint was a faint black discoloration circling his eyes. Like the bags you get after battling insomnia. Everything else was…bare.

It couldn’t be helped. Her fingers went lax, phone clamoring to the floor.

Joker arched a brow at the involuntary act. He then took a step toward her, trying to make something out in her expression.

“Mm…you took your magic mushrooms, didn’t you?”

She abruptly patted her face.

“Is it that obvious?”

“To me it is,” he answered. “Thought you were gonna let me see ya do ‘em.”

Her shrug was much more casual than she felt.

“You weren’t around when I got up, your bed was untouched, and I figured you had split. Like I said yesterday, you’re free to do as you please.”

“Such _low_ expectations of me,” he half griped, half teased. “I’d have thought you’d be relieved to see me doing…normal things. Enjoying my…vacation.”

It was excruciating keeping eye contact with him and not letting her gaze wander. Above everything else – torso included – what she wanted to study most was his face. Take it in, thoroughly. Marvel at it. Compare and contrast it to the version of him she’d seen in Agatha’s ‘what if he’d not experienced what he had’ scenario.

Ultimately, her inclination toward cleanliness won out.

“Um, let me get you a towel.”

She picked up her phone, pocketed it in her shorts, and did her best not to sprint to the bathroom.

_He…I…fschjwab. That’s not a real word, but it should be. To encompass…a shock so intense your brain considers shutting down. Fuh-sch-jwah-b. Fschjwab. Hey Celine, how’re you doing? Oh, just fschjwab, how about you?_

On the way to the bathroom, she peeked at the hallway clock. Twenty minutes in. She could feel the tendrils of the trip reach out and ghost itself all along her back, shoulders, and neck.

_I gotta find a way to calm down. Between what Wes just told me and seeing Jack so…naked, even if he technically wasn’t, I may well spontaneously combust. _

She entered the bathroom, gathered up the towel and turned.

A high-pitched sound escaped through her teeth. Joker had followed her into the bathroom and took to leaning on the entryway with crossed arms. Though he was just down to a pair of swimming trunks, it did little to take away from his imposing presence. It might have even amplified it because in order to leave, she would have to brush past his half naked form. She wasn’t sure she could weather his body heat, let alone skin to skin contact.

“What’s got you so ski-_ttish_?” he drawled.

“I-.” She cleared her throat and took a step toward him, extending the towel. “Wasn’t expecting to see you like this. Just…give me a second to adjust.”

He took the towel from her but made no move to dry himself.

“Second’s over.”

_Focus on his eyes. Not the numerous scars and healing wounds on his body. Focus on his eyes. Not the mouthwatering leanness of his arms and shoulders. Focus on his eyes. Not the dusting of hair on his navel leading to his-_

“I’ll leave you to get dressed,” she stated, opting to stare at the space behind him. “Um…I’m heading out shortly on a trail. You’re welcome to come with me.”

When he didn’t say anything, she attempted to make her way past him. One of his hands shot out in front of her, grabbing onto the siding of the entry.

She dipped her head a little and made herself as small as possible before ducking beneath his arm.

“I’ll be by the jacuzzi whenever you’re ready,” she told him, scurrying down the hallway.

Once she was safely outside, she ended up dropping down to sit on the deck. Sitting crisscrossed, she placed the back of each hand atop her knees. Closing her eyes, she worked on her breathing; attempting to slow down her heart rate.

The venture proved successful, but she was quickly becoming mesmerized by the explosion of colors swirling around in her mind’s eye. Fuschia melting into lavender into maroon into aquamarine into magenta. One of her hands reached out, as if to grasp at the polychromatic colors.

They shot into a million different directions, causing her to lean forward on her knees in an attempt to snag at least one lingering molecule.

“Evasive, are we?” she coaxed, smiling a little.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention. Without having to look, she knew Joker was standing a few feet behind her.

“Ready?” she asked before he could speak, pushing to her feet.

He reached her side and offered her a scrutinous scan. Though she was wearing a tank top that accentuated her curves, it was her soft pink Hawaiian shirt bearing a generous amount of navy-blue palm trees that his eyes lingered on.

To her disappointment, he was geared back up in his signature dress shirt, vest, tie, and pinstriped pants. Not that the outfit didn’t make him look fetching, but a secret part of her had hoped his swim might have inspired him to let loose a little. To realize when it was just them, he no longer needed to cling to the persona that so often brought Gotham to its knees.

_I don’t think he thought through just how much a pair of swimming trunks could humanize him._

He continued staring at her, not saying anything. 

She took this time to closer examine his face. Unable to help it, one hand reached up and hovered over his jaw. A thumb brushed over the lengthy scar of his right cheek.

His response was the epitome of conflict. Animosity seeped into his gaze while at the same time, his face leaned into her touch.

“Did the saltwater aggravate them?” she asked, lowering her hand.

“Tickled,” was his only response.

She nodded.

Choosing to not attempt conversation again, she started walking, him following suit a second later.

The first half of the hike was done in relative silence. She opted to go barefoot while Joker kept in pace with her in his shoes.

On either side of the trail massive white pine trees towered over them. During the winter months – with snow descending softly, coating the conifers – you felt like you were wandering through a Christmas wonderland. When she’d been little, she would help her mom put up different colored lights on the trees closest to the house. It was a shame she ever stopped, but depression tended to suck the joy out of holidays; leaving them to feel like any other day.

The temperature was noticeably warmer within the pines, and the day was as the weather channel predicted: sunny, a slight breeze, and the occasional fluffy white cloud. Neither of them broke a sweat as they walked, and it was thankfully too early in the day for mosquitos to be causing much of a nuisance. Beneath them the trail was mostly a mix of dirt, pine needles, twigs, the occasional animal droppings, and a few stray leaves.

After about ten minutes of walking, American beech and oak trees began to make their presence known. Beneath their feet the pine needles gradually made way for more leaves, some acorns, and the occasional severed branch.

To pass the silence, she offered him a few tid bits of information on their trek.

“These were game trails initially,” she explained, pausing briefly to sink her toes into some moss that had overrun a curve in the trail. “My uncles would come by every November and try their luck during deer season. I always loved to explore, so whenever they weren’t out, I’d follow the paths they and the animals made. Lu caught on that I wanted more…options for adventuring. Hence these trails being as developed as they are…though…he was careful to do them in a way that didn’t disturb the ecosystem already established. He’d sooner jump off a bridge than pour gravel and concrete down. The more natural the trails, the better.”

She hoped her rambling wasn’t bothering him. It was tough to say when he became uncharacteristically silent.

_Perhaps he’s taking it all in. Or he’s making sure we’re as alone in our environment as I’m leading him to believe._

She paused briefly to observe a gang of yellow and gray warblers perched on a branch, squawking away as they attempted to snatch a thick worm out of a black-throated one’s beak.

The longer she stared, the louder their screeching reverberated in her eardrums. And the more intense the urge got to emulate their method of communication.

_So, it’s going to be that kind of a trip, is it? _

When Joker withdrew his gun and took aim at the one boasting the worm, all fanciful feelings subsided.

“Don’t you dare,” she warned, turning to him. “We leave the creatures in here unharmed unless we’re being threatened. Same rules as when you’re around my friends and family.”

“They’re just…_birds_,” he countered, eyes gleaming at the prospect of finally getting to kill something. “What’s one down when there’s hundreds more to take their place?”

He closed one eye and stroked the trigger.

Before he could pull it, she retracted her hand and sucker punched him in the kidney.

His grip remained on the gun, but he did keel over a little, slightly out of breath. A wheeze shot out of him, followed by a series of short, punctuated laughs.

“You ah _really_ care about those little cretins, don’t ya?”

“Somedays, I prefer them to people,” she defended, straightening up. “Please, put it away. We’re here to observe, nothing more.”

He peered at her through a few strands of hair that’d fallen over his eyes.

“And what if I _don’t_?”

_Why is he being like this? So…needlessly antagonizing. It’s not playful like it was yesterday, there’s genuine malice behind it. He would have shot that bird had I not intervened. Did…did letting me see him so physically bare bother him that much?_

The thought caused a wave of guilt to sweep over her. She took a step back from him and looked down at her feet. Tears threatened to leak out of the corners of her eyes; a consequence of the hyper-alert, hypersensitive state she was slowly becoming immersed in.

_Is he intentionally trying to make this trip bad for me? _

She swallowed tightly and turned away from him. Without looking back, she continued on the trail; suddenly wishing he hadn’t come. And he knew now…being trapped in the beginning stages of the trip…how to sabotage it for her. Her kryptonite. Slaughtering animals without reason, without respect…for his own amusement.

Her feet were moving so fast she wasn’t able to detect the snaggled root popping up a few inches from the ground. Her toes caught it and not a second later she was sprawled on her front, spitting out some dirt she’d accidentally inhaled.

She expected Joker to start laughing, but he surprised her.

Before she could try to push herself up, he knelt down, slipped an arm under her abdomen and pulled her up to her feet. He didn’t remove his hold, though he did – perhaps unconsciously – draw her a little closer to his body.

Her head hung low, too embarrassed to look back at him.

“Need to watch where you’re going,” he mumbled, plucking a few leaves out of her hair.

_Thank you Captain Obvious_.

She tried to step forward, but he tugged her back.

“Grab my hand.”

Her brows rose. Did she hear him correctly?

“I’d rather not.”

“Don’t mo-_pe_,” he glowered. “Doesn’t suit you. Grab my hand. Last time I’m asking.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’re asking.”

“Mm…so be it.”

One minute she was on her feet, the next he’d picked her up and slung her over his shoulder: half of her body hanging over his back, the other half over his front.

“_Much_ better.”

He began to walk.

Blood rushed into her cranium.

“Jack,” she threatened, “let me off.”

She’d always known he was tall, but never had the proper perspective of just how much until she was suspended a good five feet off the ground.

“You’re clumsy,” he accused, sounding very much like he was speaking through a smile. “What am I gonna tell your uncle if you come back with a broken ankle?”

“Not him you should be concerned about,” she grumbled back.

This earned her a firm spank. When she let loose a squeak, she swore she heard him purr. 

Sensing he intended to carry her for the duration of the walk, she resigned herself to her fate.

_He’s trying to make up for earlier. In that backwards way only he knows how. _

Her intuition relayed this, causing her to let out a breath she hadn’t known she was keeping in.

Somehow – be it because of their growing closeness over the past twenty-four hours, or the expansion of her senses as the trip began to accelerate - his feelings were encroaching on her own. Whatever he felt, she seemed to get an aftershock of. Which meant it was crucial she learned how to deflect his storm clouds anytime they threatened to get too near. The last thing she wanted was to absorb something nasty from him and give it permission to wreak havoc.

At some point he had stopped walking, and she only noticed when the chipmunk she’d been monitoring disappeared into a decaying log.

“What’s up?”

He released her.

It took her a few seconds to regain her footing. She turned around to study what enraptured his attention.

“We made it!” she exclaimed, bringing both hands together over her chest as she gazed upward. “You ever been inside a treehouse, Jack?”

He peered up at the structure, not appearing all that impressed. His body language, however, betrayed him.

_No, he hasn’t. But he’s curious. _

She bit down on her lip, then winced; forgetting he’d punctured it last evening.

“This was Lu’s birthday gift to me when I turned twelve,” she explained, eyes roving over the set of ropes extending just a few inches from the ground; boards secured between them serving as steps. “It’s crazy, huh? That even in the middle of nowhere I still wanted my privacy.”

“Not crazy,” he remarked after a long moment, squinting to re-examine the structure. “Not crazy at _all_.”

She detected an undercurrent of sadness from him. Though, calling it sadness was generous. This emotion in a body like Joker’s was far more…_harsh_…heavy…enclosed in barbed wire so sharp you barely needed to touch it to pierce skin.

She noticed her hand was rising to offer him some form of comfort. Before he became aware of it, she stepped forward and placed it on the board eyelevel with her.

“I have my trip journal up there,” she mentioned, peeking back at him. “Every summer I add to it. And flip through the summers prior, refamiliarizing myself with old adventures. It’s so exciting…this time you can be in it too!”

He looked the opposite of thrilled, which only bolstered her mirth.

_This is my trip. This is my vacation. How it goes is not dependent on him. I am the mistress of my own fate. What was it Agatha said? Living my truth inspires others to live theirs. So…go ahead…live it. _

This reaffirmation felt like the sun was beaming through every pore in her body, leaving nothing but joy and warmth in its wake.

_I’ve got this. I’m a badass bunny with empathy for days. Today is my day to enjoy, I claim it._

She began to climb, continuing the motivational pep talk. The ropes swayed beneath her weight but held firm.

_Jack is unaccustomed to these new experiences; his instincts gear him toward what is safe. And safe for him is being on alert…distrustful…violent, should the occasion call for it. Not. In. My. Treehouse._

She paused, left hand hovering over the next board.

_One, two, three, four, five…that’s six from the ground._

Her arm skipped the board and reached for the one above it. She’d meant to mention to Lucien that board number six was beginning to rot through and see if he could construct a replacement.

“Skip the sixth board,” she mentioned below her. “It’s a little bit unstable.”

He didn’t answer, prompting her to wonder if he had any intentions of following her up.

_His loss if he doesn’t. The view is lovely from up there._

She continued her ascension, eyes instinctively locating the worn sign nailed directly by the entrance. It was a shoutout to what had been her favorite movie of all time for most of her childhood and teenage years. In delicate black paint the sign announced **_No Admission Except on Party Business. _**She wondered if Joker would get the reference.

_Probably not. He doesn’t strike me as the sort who can sit still for 4 hours and watch a full-fledged fantasy film with themes of hope, friendship, love, and courage. I would wager all the money I’ve got he’d be rooting for The Ring to reunite with Sauron. Though…that would make watching the last film extreeeeeeeemely gratifying. Rub it in his face. Na-na na-na na-na. Love won out in the end! Good prevailed over evil!_

She was struggling not to burst into giggles. The amusement of these thoughts could not be properly articulated…such overwhelming elation made her feel like dipping her head into a pool filled with the sweetest insanity. It was okay to take the plunge, there was a bottom after all, even if she couldn’t see or feel it.

Another rope hanging off the floorboards of the entrance caught her attention. One arm reached up and looped it twice around her wrist, offering it a few tugs to ensure it would support any strain she put on it. When it failed to slacken any, she used it and the remaining stairs to pull herself up and inside.

The treehouse itself hovered roughly twenty-five feet off the ground, its interior 9-foot-long by 9-foot-wide with a distance of 8 feet between floorboards and ceiling. Two windows were carved out, one facing east and the other west. Both had dated lace curtains hanging from them.

As she peered around to re-examine everything, dust invaded her nostrils, causing her to flirt with a few sneezes before they petered out.

Time had been kind to her former childhood palace, partially due to the dark, waterproof hardwoods it was constructed out of. Only above her near the left corner of the roof was there evidence of deterioration; part of it having concaved in after a winter with a heavier snowfall than usual. A beehive-sized hole sat in its place, allowing in considerably more light; and it was a testament to the persistent nature of trees that a branch should try to bend its way inside, about a dozen or so of its leaves hanging just out of arm’s reach. If she pushed her back to the opposite wall, sprinted, and did her best lunge upward, she could probably snag one or two.

The rope that she’d used to assist her way in (along with the ones helping create the stairs) was expertly knotted into a row of cable clamps bolted into the furthest wall from the entrance. She noticed the rope grow taut a few times, indicating it was currently in use. Grinning to herself, she stretched both arms in the air, studying the shadows of leaves dancing on her skin.

_Pretty…so, so pretty. I could watch this forever._

A chortle erupted from her. She stifled it with a palm. What felt like someone tapping their fingers all along her shoulders caused her to hug herself again and turn.

Joker pulled himself up the rest of the way via the rope. She did her best not to think about him doing this half-naked. The exertion his muscles would undergo would be simply…_delicious_.

“Welcome!” she greeted, extending her arms.

His perusal of the space was done as impartially as possible…like he was trying to mask any semblance of interest.

She noted his gaze first land on the shelf nailed against one of the walls; home to a leather-bound journal. Then it flicked to a dusty, purple beanbag chair partially covered by a thick quilt. His eyes traveled upward to a few cobwebs claiming the corners of the room; then the clock she’d nailed up a couple years back (by a glance it needed new batteries).

It was black and a near exact replica of one of Salvador Dali’s drooping clocks from his painting _The Persistence of Memory. _She learned later on: looking at it sober and then on psychedelics was a mind-boggling experience. It went from being regular shaped to the droop extending nearly to the floor. _Definitely_ one of her favorite impulse buys.

Joker’s gaze ended up landing on the hole in the ceiling just above her. It was this that he chose to approach, nearing her until a few inches separated them.

When he reached up, he was able to comfortably stroke the leaves poking through. She tried very hard not to broadcast her envy.

“What do you think?”

He looked down at her, trying to fight off a smirk.

“You were _twelve_ when your uncle gifted this to you?”

She arched a brow, trying to figure out the source of his amusement. And trying to ignore how handsome he looked as shadows and sun played around on his face, offering him the sort of soft angles that had her itching to trace them.

“He started in the spring, but finished up a few weeks before my birthday, yeah.” She smiled at the memory. “Terrible about keeping it a secret, mind you. You can only tell me you’re building a deer blind so many times before I become curious enough to see for myself. Sort of…spoiled the surprise, but I never let on. And by the time he finished it, it genuinely was like seeing it for the first time.”

He tilted his head, crossing his arms in the process.

“And mommy didn’t think this was too _dangerous_ for her itsy-bitsy girl to play with?”

“Dangerous?” She fought back a scoff. “We’re a different breed up here, Jack. We grew up spending most of our time outdoors. Most of my graduating class took the same hunter’s safety courses when we were thirteen. If you fell out of a tree you were climbing…so long as nothing was broken…you continued your day’s adventures. Sure, my mom was apprehensive…the first summer I had to have a curfew. But after that…I proved that I knew my way around the woods, and god…I was a fantastic climber. Plus…it’s not people you worry about so much out here, but rather bears, wolves, or coyotes. And they really didn’t stray too near to the coast…not unless food was scarce for them.”

He was studying her with…_what was it_…

She squinted, trying to make it out.

“Oh.” It dawned on her. “Sweet, nice, compassionate Celine should have had a soft, sheltered life growing up. Heaven forbid she knows her way around the big scary woods!”

With a dramatic sigh, she pretended to faint backwards; one arm resting on her forehead.

“Oh Jack, I am but a ditzy damsel in duress,” she lamented, blinking rapidly. “In need of a strong man to help me with anything that could possibly cause a broken nail.”

His scars twitched.

“Mm…point _taken_,” he accepted. “Got a little _Celine Oakley_ in my presence.”

Her grin was crooked. She pretended to shoot a few bullets his way with finger guns, blowing at the barrels afterward.

“And don’t you forget it.”

She winked at him before twirling around, suddenly feeling a little lightheaded.

_This…this is how I know it’s worth pursuing. When banter comes that naturally between two people…when there’s no need to put on a facade because you’re so drawn to the other person all you want to do is experience the moment with them… and…to fight that draw…to hide behind a mask constructed out of fear, hatred, insecurity, the need to intimidate… feels outright…abnormal. Yes…terrifying to admit to, but I’d be a fool to ignore it._

She made her way over to the shelf and grabbed the journal sitting atop it. It was almost all the way full; nearly a lifetime of acid and mushroom trips documented and memorialized in some shape or form. There was a white rectangle on the cover that offered the option of putting your name, but she never got around to doing so; preferring the mystery of keeping it nameless. It would truly baffle someone should they stumble upon it, and she quite liked that idea.

As she thumbed through the pages, Joker approached her from behind. Two arms slipped over her shoulders and came to rest on the edge of the shelf: caging her in.

But trapped is the last thing she felt. An inner warmth pulsed through her, a hum danced in her throat, the breeze whistled into her ears, and so utterly content and teeming with happiness was she that she ended up leaning back into Joker’s chest like he were a favorite recliner of hers. This newfound position allowed him to easily rest his chin in the fleshy spot between shoulder and clavicle.

His breathing was slow…unguarded. The more she melted into him, the firmer his chest seemed to get.

He watched her fingers flick through the yellowing pages, taking in some of the bizarre doodles and scribbles.

“All done on psychedelics?” he reconfirmed.

“Mhm.”

She did her best not to bare her neck to him. Earlier, she’d mentioned she was getting the aftershock of his emotions. Because something foul had been coursing through him, the sensations weren’t very pleasant.

Now however…with as close as they were…with as relaxed as they were with one another…it was a struggle not to turn and connect their mouths just so another part of their skin could be connected.

_I…think…these mushrooms…are going to…make me see…what Agatha…saw. _

She shuddered a little, attempting to compose herself.

Joker slid an index finger into a random section. She obliged him and flipped back to the first half of the journal.

“How _old_ was your first time?”

She ignored the attempt at an innuendo.

“Seventeen,” she answered quietly, scanning the page he’d chosen. “I had one more trip after that. Then…I went away to Gotham, experimented there, and left this behind for a while. The next entry was at age twenty-four…this one you selected, funnily enough. I was back briefly for a wedding. And that…that was one of the more profound trips. I had so much more figured out by then.”

He skimmed the date’s entry:

**08/08/2004 **

Beneath it was a poem that had no title.

“I couldn’t think of anything,” she answered his wordless curiosity. “I wrote this as I was coming down…I think it was the first time I was able to properly put into words what tripping meant to me.”

She stayed quiet as he silently read to himself.

**crunchy stems  
caps sink between molars  
** **𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑘** **  
azure  
** **𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑘** **  
plum  
** **𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑘** **  
magenta  
equilibrium compromised  
splendid, finally!  
I am the midnight hour.**

**look within  
a higher consciousness brews  
perception sways, melts  
darkness cozies up to the moon.**

**epiphanies excavated-  
dusted off, articulated from  
mazes I formed in reality's absence.**

**O how my Being croons  
I wish to return to where supernovas flirt with creation  
and atoms reunite like old friends.  
a damaged child extends a hand  
_"I wish I had been kinder to you"_  
a fragile whisper returned  
"I forgive you"**

**cackles as mad as I  
burst from my throat  
euphoria gushes from these pores  
I shake and caress this vessel  
uncontrolled mirth guiding my fingers,  
falling in love for the first time,  
and yet I've enough clarity to say:  
never chase feelings  
sit, analyze, experience (if you must)  
from a distance.**

**peace masquerades in two forms  
inside you and in death  
fear neither.**

**the soul exists  
trembling lips confess to me softly  
_"I am so glad to have found a home in you."_  
what need is God when you are your own?  
_"At the center, you are pure."_  
grace, clemency, equanimity  
everything I've ever wanted exists within.**

**in time, the moon retreats with a playful wink  
a bleary-eyed sun confirms  
the rapture is at an end.**

**enlightenment is a quickly fading dream  
whose lips were kind enough to brush mine.**

He was silent for so long she worried he might have fallen asleep.

_Perhaps it’s best I keep to myself that he’s the only person on this planet who’s read this…any of this. He might be tempted to burn it._

“Hm.”

That was his only response, and she was okay with that. She sensed moreso that he was ruminating on what he’d read. It was best not to press him for an opinion so soon. Like her, he was a thinker, and if he could afford the luxury of time to do so, he would.

Once again, he lodged a finger randomly into a section of the journal, this time very near where she’d left off last summer.

When she opened the section up, her eyes widened. Abruptly, she slammed the journal shut, nearly taking his finger with it.

“Um…that…will remain…private.”

She could almost hear his eyebrows rising.

Laughing nervously, she twisted around.

“Trust me…there are some things best left inside my brain.”

“Mm…well, color me in-_trigued_. What ah exactly has my bunny blushing so bea-_uti_-fully?”

She shook her head, clutching the journal to her chest.

“I-.” Her eyes dropped to his throat, finding it a much easier place to look. “Attempted writing something that is grounds for my assassination.”

“Oh _do_ tell.”

He was offering her no room for escape and seemed to relish in that fact, arms closing in on her head.

She ducked under one of them while she still had the chance and backpaddled away.

Joker turned to her, smirking deviously.

“Small, _cramped_ space, Cece. Don’t have many hiding places to choose from.” He took his time approaching her. “Best rip off the band aid and tell me, hm?”

“I-.” A hysterical laugh shot out of her throat. It was a combination of the side effects of the trip kicking in and recalling what it was that she was safeguarding so carefully from him. “I wrote a…rap. It…_didn’t_ turn out.”

His eyes lit up at the revelation.

“Mm…gimme, _gimme_…I _wanna_ read it.”

“Uh _no_.” She licked her lips. “You have to take my word for it. In fact, it’s probably best I rip it out.”

No sooner had she said this then Joker made a lunge for her. She managed to dart out of the way, but the hasty action caused her to trip over the quilt and land sideways atop the beanbag chair; releasing a powder of dust and a trio of miffed daddy long legs that had long since claimed the cushion as their own.

When Joker tried to jump at her again, she shrieked a little and rolled off of the beanbag. He went for her ankle and she shuffled backwards with a combination of heels and elbows until she was pressed against the wall, breaths flying out of her.

Joker ran a hand through his hair, grin deepening at having nearly cornered her.

She didn’t think twice about her next set of actions. Sliding two fingers into the front of her shorts, she jammed her journal in between her thigh and underwear so it was safely secured in an area that he would have to reconsider before attempting to grab at.

Regrettably, this only served to further bolster his glee.

“Well now you’re just _inviting_ me for dinner. Was that your goal all along? Tempting your grizzly bear into putting his paws _all_ over you?”

“N-no,” she stuttered out. “I-.”

He pounced.

She tucked her limbs into her body and attempted another roll, but Joker anticipated this. The second she was on her front; he grabbed her by the belt loops of her shorts and yanked her up.

She more or less flew into his torso; groaning as his arms wound around her until she was trapped against him once more.

When one of his hands slipped under her tank top and skimmed her tummy, she froze. Twisting a little, she attempted to peek up at him. They were both panting, though only hers were audible.

“I-how about this,” she tried to negotiate, squirming in his grasp. “Later…_later_ when I have less reservations…when I’m not so embarrassed…I’ll rap it to you. Scout’s honor.”

His hand relaxed, fingertips mere centimeters from the edge of her journal. His gaze had gotten hoody…lazy and intense at the same time. As a result, the area between her diaphragm and loins churned like hot honey; her knees losing all illusion of strength. If he wasn’t securing her to himself, she didn’t put it past her body to melt into the floor like a bowl of ice cream conquered by a humid day.

He didn’t respond right away, monitoring every fluctuating emotion on her face.

Lust. Amusement. Surrender. Giddiness.

His eyes widened just the slightest. She felt his bewilderment as if it were her own.

_No human being has ever looked at him in this way before…at least not with this combination of emotions. _

The muscles in his hands twitched, palms digging against her. By the sudden contempt flashing across his face, she knew he was fighting very hard not to shove her to the floor like she was the personification of a plague he thought himself too cunning to catch. And upon realizing he was infected, his anger at her was all the more pervasive.

It frightened her more than she let on, witnessing how quickly Jack could succumb to Joker, and with such unpredictable triggers at that. How quickly he could purge himself of all that was unfamiliar to him in lieu of the identity he clung to…an identity he had no real reason to abandon other than her incompatibility with it. Even now, she knew he flirted with the idea of ending her life…his eyes were alit with a desire to cure his ailments…it was so very easy for him…and he had acres upon acres of land to ensure her body was never found.

Astonishingly, her fear was brief. And that she could even feel something more intense than what John inflicted on her with his trial serums was a consideration to mull over at a later time.

_I don’t even think it has to do with my life ending. I think it’s being parted from him. _

This thought made her wildly emotional, so, she closed her eyes and worked on her breathing.

The day was good, the sun was out, only minutes ago she’d been sharing childhood memories and finger gunning her soulmate…he was worth fighting for. He was, he was…they couldn’t have made it this far for him not to be…

Her eyes flickered open, relieved to see his murderous urges better tamed. Was that Jack in there? Equipped with a frayed rope, slung around a bear’s neck? Tugging…tugging with all his might…hoping he can hang on long enough to tempt the psychopath within into more passive corners of the mind.

It was nerve-wracking witnessing how badly he wished to incite some form of violence onto her. Thus, intuition opted to dictate her next few responses.

With a soft smile, she leaned into his chest, pressed her forehead against his racing heart, and kissed him deeply. She swore his heart stuttered beneath her lips.

_A poem swims in my head…who is it…Frost…Hemingway…Cohen…no._

She peeked up at Joker, nestling her chin into the patch of skin she’d just blessed.

If the situation were less dire, she’d have laughed at the way confusion straddled his brows. Yet again, she surprised him with her adaptability.

Her eyes swept past him to the branch reaching in his direction, then the streams of sunlight straining through leaves to illuminate a creature adamant in evading its rays.

“Whitman!” she blurted, snapping her fingers and beaming proudly at him. “I knew it was there…tip of my tongue…caught the answer before it fell into my gums. Then the saliva would have swept it down my throat. _So_ frustrating when that happens.”

His attempt at keeping up with her line of thinking was slowly batting away any lingerings of hostility.

“_I sing the body electric_,” she quoted. “_The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them, They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them, And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul-_”

She lifted her right hand and gently cupped his jaw, marveling at the light stubble prickling against her skin.

“_Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves? And if those who defile the living are as bad as those who defile the dead? And if the body does not do fully as much as the soul? And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul_?”

Her brain blanked out on the rest of the poem. Shame. Perhaps when she was no longer seat-belted into this specific rollercoaster with the high she was approaching she would re-visit the entirety of it. Its association with the man in front of her was undeniable.

Exhaling deeply, she dropped her hand and risked a step back. Even though seconds ago Joker had been sorely tempted to push her away from him and potentially do worse, his fingernails dug into her waist with instinctive reluctance; something she noted but stored away for later contemplation.

There was simply too much happening…too much to experience…by gods she had the whole day at her disposal! So much to do, so much to take in, so many beautiful things to observe…she was in her treehouse, in her woods, at home…the creaking of the trees were welcoming her back, the soil of the Earth longed to stain her feet, make them adventure-worn.

She covered her mouth in a poor attempt to repress a few giggles. Her eyes shot to the Dali clock.

“Holy shit!”

Joker whipped around. One of his less _friendly_ blades shot out, clutched so tightly his knuckles went white.

“The clock!” she tried to explain, moving up to his side. “It’s…I mean I’ve seen it years prior…but it’s so…sparkly!”

Her mouth parted in amazement.

Joker tilted his head, re-examining the clock. He flicked his blade closed.

“Mm…I’d say you’re on your way to looney land, sweets.”

She turned to him.

“Who’s driving the bus?” Concern briefly invaded her features. “Please tell me you’re coming too.”

It took nearly every muscle in her not to clutch his arm. After all, who better to accompany her to such a land?

Her hopeful smile had him struggling not to mirror something similar.

He instead reached out and ruffled her hair. The bottom lip of her smile soon curled into a pout.

“’Course I’m coming,” he assured, observing her dilating pupils. “Couldn’t imagine more _esteemed_ company…though…Batsy is always welcome to join us, gott-a _ah_ nice little nocturnal section for him near the back to brood in.”

She abruptly launched herself at him and wrapped him up in a tight hug, ignoring his brief exhale of surprise.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t turn down an opportunity to touch her when she was being so _delightfully_ compliant. It was the drug, he knew, but there was no harm in indulging himself. Figure out what her new boundaries were…see how resilient her mental state was the further from structured reality she strayed…see if he couldn’t…_test_ it.

“Perfect…that’s perfect,” she mumbled, rubbing her face against his chest as her arms tightened around his midsection. “You, me, and Batman. It’s so, so funny, isn’t it Jack? The company you choose to keep. Dogs, bunnies, crows, bats…why we’ll be our own circus in no time!”

He didn’t bother suppressing his laugh, hooking a muscled bicep around the back of her head, closing his eyes as her hot breath fanned across his chest. His grin was in no hurry to recede.

“That-ah we will, sweets. That we will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for how long it's taken me to update. This is a condensed version of events:  
I quit my job in mid-August for a better paying one. The new job was awful- extremely long shifts, poor management, non-existent training, unreasonable work load. There was no time for writing, only work and sleep. I lasted as long as I could, but ended up quitting after a month. Then, my oldest brother contracted co-vid and I had to self-quarantine for two weeks. Opened up Word document, stared at the screen, nothing came out. Quarantine ended, didn't exhibit any symptoms, went back to job searching. No luck. My living situation turned on its head. I need to be out by New Year's. Don't have the funds to move. It's okay...stay positive, stay positive. Opened up Word document, stared at the screen, nothing came out. Cue frustration. Cue anger. Cue self-doubt. Cue triggers that put me back into a mental state I'd not been in in two years. Spaced out it's fine, all at once it's devastating. Depression never disappears, it lurks, waiting for the opportunity to strike. 
> 
> I'm straight up not having a good time, but at least I found the ability to get these chapters out. Small things! Thank you so much for all of your kudos, your support, and your patience. There were a few times I contemplated deleting this story and my account. It's so frustrating when ideas won't transition onto paper. And though I read other authors works to get inspired to work on mine, after the initial awe, insecurity creeps in. I'll never be as good a writer, as talented, as witty, as creative. I don't know what to say to myself in those moments. Just remind myself I guess...if I don't write it, who will?  
Thank you again, I hope you're all taking care of yourselves.


	30. Chapter 30

The moment Celine positioned herself on the first step of the stairs it was sensory overload galore. Her skin broke out into goosebumps and she was briefly lost in the mesmerizing back and forth sway of the leaves rustling all around her. Every color her eyes located was a more vibrant hue of itself. It was still too early in the trip for everything to resemble a Van Gogh painting, but at the rate these shrooms were hitting, it wouldn’t take long.

Her lips were peeled back in a smile that on any other occasion would made her mouth ache. She just felt overflowing with optimism and jubilance. A part of her had been sorely tempted to ask Joker if he wanted to dance, but she didn’t dare push it when she’d just been able to reel him back into an amicable mood.

_I wonder if he’d let me paint him. _

She made her way down one step at a time.

_Not his face…that’s been covered up for faaaaaaar too long. His shoulders. His chest. His back. His abdomen. That’s maybe why I got the acrylics. So he can see himself reinterpreted. After all a canvas-_

Mid-thought, her foot sunk through the rotten board she’d warned Joker about earlier. And so preoccupied with her stream of consciousness was she that by the time she noticed what had happened, it was far too late. Her fingers slackened around the rope and gravity did the rest, depositing her ten feet onto the solid ground beneath her.

Immediately, all the breath escaped her lungs. An ache shot through her shoulder blades and tailbone. One hand went to cup the back of her skull.

Joker had been only a couple steps above her, but the moment he heard her collision with the ground, he leaped off the step he was on and landed a few feet beside her. What looked suspiciously like concern briefly overcame his features before his expression went neutral.

He leaned down next to her on the balls of his feet, cocking his head, perusing her for any visible injuries.

Her head lolled to the side, a crooked grin making way for the groan she meant to emit.

“Ouchie,” she murmured, fascinated by the hints of amber twinkling in his eyes. “I meant to do that.”

“Mm…yeah?” He lapped at his scars. “Thought you already proved to me when you were my hostage that bunnies can’t fly.”

She chuckled, offering him a half shrug.

“Worth another attempt.”

He offered her an arm and she graciously let him pull her to her feet, shaking her hair free of all dirt and leaves.

_Woaaah. _

Standing up was more of an adventure than she anticipated. The gravity anchoring her to the earth felt as if an extra twenty pounds had been added to it. She knew that wasn’t the case, but her body reacted accordingly, tingling to the point of titillation each time she tried moving a limb, finger or muscle.

_Ooo hoo hoo…yeah buddy! The trip is officially commencing. Attention nervous system, this is your pilot speaking, keep all arms and legs inside the vehicle or risk…certain doom!_

She bit her lip to keep it from quivering.

One of Joker’s hands lingered at the base of her spine. He studied her through a squint.

“Think it-ah _best_ you walk ahead of me, hm?”

She staggered a little, trying to find her center of balance.

“No arguments here, captain.”

She offered him a hearty salute before making her way back onto the trail. There were technically more by the treehouse that forked their way deeper into the woods, but her feet were insistent on taking the route back to the house. Her concentration wasn’t as sharp with Joker being here…he was far too alluring of a distraction. It wouldn’t do returning maimed or paralyzed.

Her back ached from her third tumble in two days, but just as quickly she refocused her attention onto the trail.

This time around – with a near laser precision - she was able to detect that which she’d not caught the first time on their hike. Primarily a healthy variety of fungus growing out of the ground, protruding from some trees, and out of decaying logs.

“That’s the birch polypore,” she mentioned, stopping near a tree that had a diagonal amount scattered upward. “If you’re ever short on supplies to build a fire, it can be used as tinder. Allegedly when Otzi the Iceman was discovered he had this species on him…they think as a means of killing whipworm.”

Her attention was soon drawn to a bouquet of orange caps with reddish gills swelling out of a massive oak tree. Joker kept up with her excited sprint toward it.

“Orange mycena,” she noted, kneeling a little so she could see the underside of the caps. “Very, very, _very_ bad ones to eat. They’re carcinogenic and harmful to animal cells.”

The gills looked like they were billowing, causing Celine’s mouth to pop open in wonder. Why is it in all the years she’d tripped on magic mushrooms had she never actually taken the time to closely observe all the fungus native to her neck of the woods. They were absolutely fascinating in this state…and she swore putting her ear up to them, she could hear them growing.

Joker watched her skip a few feet ahead, smacking at a few mosquitoes that’d decided to make their presence known.

“I think…I _think_.” She got down on her knees, studying the bright yellow caps and stems with splotches of red intermixed. “These are the chicken fat mushrooms…slippery caps some call them because of the slime on the caps. They are edible! Mom mixed them into a spread one autumn…didn’t care for it honestly…but it was good to know they’re edible. Just in case you find yourself lost.”

She glanced at Joker, immediately fighting back a smile. He was busy fending off a swarm of mosquitoes that apparently had a thirst for clown blood. And by the looks of it, they were winning.

_Difficult to win against an enemy you can’t easily shoot, intimidate, or stab._

“You stay right there,” she exclaimed, shooting up to her feet. “I’ll be right back!”

She dove off the trail in between a few bushes and trees, bare feet pounding over the dirt, doing her best to avoid stepping on any critters in her path.

Before Joker could break free of the swarm and follow, she had returned. With a grin, she extended to him a large fern attached to a leaf stalk. What looked to be the last of the swarm ended up splattered by Joker’s palm against his shoulder.

He glared at the fern, frown deepening as sweat gathered at the nape of his neck.

_Just a small town girl…living in a lonely world. Took the midnight train going aaaaaaanywhere. That’s me! Just a city boy (that’s Jack!) born in raised in south…ummm probably not Detroit? He took the midnight train goooooing annnnyyywheeeeere. _

She was practically bouncing up on the soles of her feet, gesturing for him to take the fern.

When he again refused, she realized – not for the first time - just how out of his element he was. And amidst this realization, something unforeseen happened.

In her sensitive, ultra-heightened state, she was beginning to feel spurts of Joker’s…_lifeforce_? She wasn’t all too sure what to call it, having never experienced anything like it before. His soul was encrusted with a tar-like armor of negative vibrations…that much she felt, that much she had _witnessed_.

But every so often – if her concentration was precise enough – she could sense that tar ripple and fluctuate, and in certain spots, spread so thinly that her own lifeforce briefly penetrated the black tar and connected to a miniscule section of his unblemished soul.

Her body nearly convulsed when this happened, eyes fluttering shut; and for a few seconds, images that weren’t her own bombarded her psyche.

_Suburbs. No…outskirts of a small city. Poor side of it. Houses that are on their way to being blight infested. Chain link fences…you have to drive a half hour north to reach the nearest green space…a small park in a rich community. The wealth gap here is staggering, but not all that widely discussed. _

Just as quickly, the images vanished, and her eyes popped open; the connection to his soul severed once more by the tar.

_Holy shit balls …did I just…see where he grew up? Is that…possible?_

She peered at him closely, everything around him temporarily disappearing.

_We…are soulmates. And his energy…potent…magnetic. Given his significance, it’s entirely possible that the longer we spend with each other the easier it is to establish a connection, especially the more attuned I become with my higher self. Though…what I’ll see or feel when it’s established…I don’t know if that can be controlled._

This experience briefly sobered her up; their environment falling back into place.

_I could ask him…just to be sure._

Her intuition immediately advised against this.

_You may think asking him is harmless, but at this current moment it would only breed suspicion and mistrust. He’s gone to excruciating measures erasing that self out of existence…as well as any breadcrumbs that could trace back to it…your knowledge of such intimate details…revealing them now wouldn’t be wise._

She accepted this advice easily enough. After all, how would she even go about explaining her knowledge of these private details? _Hey Jack, guess what, we’re soulmates and I’ve been able to tune in to your energy and card through bits and pieces of your life like a roll of film? Let’s talk about your childhood, from what I’ve glimpsed and sensed, it wasn’t all that spectacular. _

Grimacing, she internally agreed. Now wasn’t the time.

When her gaze dropped to her hand, she was reminded why it was extended to begin with.

_Obnoxious blood suckers. Vindictive pests that belong in the graveyard of a spider’s web._

“It’ll help with the mosquitoes,” she explained, swishing the fern around her body. “Think of it as a swatter. Native American tribes occasionally used them for this purpose, among others.”

He made no attempt to take it from her, studying her sharply. Tuning out the way she had had apparently piqued his interest, and she could practically see the wheels turning, trying to figure out if it was done soberly or drug induced.

_Good luck-a-rino, buddy! I can barely keep track of myself._

All the tingles rushed back at neck-breaking speed. The urge to giggle couldn’t be ignored. And she’d have indulged if not for noticing movement a few yards behind him.

“No way,” she murmured, so very tempted to take a step forward but not wanting to spook the creature. “Carefully, look behind you.”

Joker was much more receptive to this request, only because he hated the feeling of being caught off guard. Slowly, he turned around.

A gorgeous, medium-sized red fox had wandered onto the trail a considerable distance behind them. Its snout was currently buried into a lowbush of ripened blueberries, attempting to sniff something out.

Celine couldn’t help herself. She crept as stealthily as possible to Joker’s side, enamored with the scene before her. Foxes weren’t uncommon to stumble across, but rare was it that a healthy one would hover in an area long enough to be comfortably examined. She guessed it hadn’t yet detected their presence, and if it had, figured there was enough distance between them not to feel threatened.

“Marvelous, isn’t it?” she whispered, pausing at Joker’s side. “It’s like a bushy little flame. Have you seen one in person before?”

“Can’t say I have.” He peered down at her. “Want me to kill it for you? Take it to a taxidermist…that-a way you can keep it forever.”

She was affronted.

“Absolutely not…that would be so, _so_ selfish. Killing something that majestic for the sake of a souvenir.”

When he didn’t respond, she looked up.

_Oh!_

One hand reached out and took his, squeezing it softly.

“But thank you…I appreciate the offer.”

He mumbled something unintelligible, glaring at the fox through narrowed lids.

“Can’t kill birds, can’t kill foxes…thought you wanted me to enjoy myself out here.”

“Is harming something the only way you can do that?”

“Mm…_no_. But it ah _certainly_ helps.”

Almost as if it sensed Joker’s threat, the fox retracted its snout and shot into a thicket of vegetation. They could hear its feet scampering over leaves until there was near silence once more.

Sighing, Celine stared longingly at the blueberries.

“I guess I can’t blame it,” she said. “Probably figured out it was in the company of a more dangerous predator.”

“Little ole me?” He batted his eyes with no shortage of dramatics. “Whyyyy I’m as harmless as a cucumber.”

She briefly envisioned Joker’s head screwed onto a cucumber’s body. Both hands flew to her mouth, trying but failing to halt an onslaught of giggles. Especially when Joker’s head began issuing threats.

** _“Get me Batsy!”_ **

** _“Kill the Crow!”_ **

** _“I said EXTRA mustard you dense bastard!”_ **

A part of her desperately wished for him to join her in this state. This state of…of…_infinite_ amusement. Where she was tickled by anything and everything. Where the more absurd the thought, the less tame the laughter. And the less tame the laughter, the greater the desire to jump ship from reality and let the wind carry you to where it wills.

Peering up at Joker, she tilted her head.

“Might I ask you something?”

His scars twitched; eyes fixed on her oscillating smile.

“Gotta say…you wanting my permission is _cute_. A guy could get used to that.” He ruffled her hair again, grinning when her hands tried to bat his away. “Ask away.”

She bit the corner of her lip, trying to ignore the fact that even through her annoyance it was still nice to have physical contact with him.

“Do you…do you ever get nervous meeting with mob bosses? Or someone that you know wants you dead?”

His answer was instantaneous.

“_Nope_.”

“No? Not even if you’re weaponless?”

“Mmm…what can I say, I’m a creative guy. Anything can be fashioned into a weapon with the right…_ambition_. Confidence is key…_real_ confidence, not the kind guns give you the illusion of having. If you’re confident all because you got a gun, you’re no more confident than a mousey hiding behind a lion. And really…it’s all a matter of…_perspective_.”

She swayed a little, nearly closing her eyes. The certainty with which he spoke…the low rumble in his tone like a wave of horses galloping across a prairie…she wanted that voice to cocoon her until no other sound could breach it.

“How’s that?” she managed to reply, hypnotized by his gaze.

“I don’t think of it as _I’m_ going to be in a room with all my enemies.” His eyes held so much animation in them, beckoning her to waltz together to a manic tune. “Rather…_all my_ _enemies_ are going to be in one room…”

“With you,” she finished.

“With me,” he agreed, smirking proudly. “You look at it that way and _poof!_ the nerves desert ya like they were never even there. And mine haven’t been around in _loooong_ over a decade”

She soaked this in, unconsciously rubbing her palms against each other.

“You’re so…so…” Every word that came to mind failed to do him justice. “_Fascinating_. I… I think you’re one of the most fascinating people I’ve ever come across. Yes, _yes_…impulsive, cruel, apathetic…but fascinating beyond most people’s comprehension.”

His frown surprised her.

“Not a fan of liars, Cece.”

She shook her head, mouth forming around a stampede of words seeking to get through. Her hands were gesturing in circular motions without her realizing. It suddenly was of great importance that he understood where she was coming from.

“Jack…I…this isn’t a state I’m capable of lying in. I’m…tuning in to my highest self…and that self doesn’t lie, not to you, and certainly not to me.”

He was eying her with no shortage of disbelief.

“Hmm, that so? Mind telling me then who Batman really is.”

She met his eyes…nebula, his _eyes_…they were the liveliest part of him, no matter the emotion experienced. Like a separate him entirely. And in a sense, this was the truth, for behind them existed another layer of his corporeal being. Someone she in this moment wanted nothing more than to lasso out and introduce herself to.

“What um…makes you…think I know?”

Being present in this conversation was becoming increasingly difficult. Each time she blinked, she found more colors to focus on. And they weren’t necessarily connected to anything in her environment, nothing that held physical form that is. Almost as if she were conjuring them out of the blue…thin, weaving little lines…pretty little lines that appeared to enjoy meandering around Joker’s form. Her fingers without her realizing right away were tracing invisible patterns along the sides of her thighs.

“Simple.” His voice brought her back to reality. “My hostages and I tend to have a tad more…mmm…_privacy_ with each other before Batsy comes knocking on my door. You on the other hand he saved in _record_ time. Don’t think even that lawyer he had a soft spot for…oh what was her name-.”

He was tapping at his chin.

“Rachel,” she said softly.

“Ah! That’s the one. Don’t even think she was that lucky.”

Thinking of Rachel did something very unpleasant to her. Something that threatened the positive direction her trip had been propelling toward.

_Oh Rachel…Rachel, Rachel, Rachel…Harvey listened to her die…Bruce couldn’t get to her in time…and I’m kissing and hugging her murderer. _

The tears came without warning. She felt as if she were a balloon someone managed to snatch by the mouthpiece and jab a needle into.

Bringing her knuckles to her mouth, she bit down. Both eyes squeezed shut.

_Process it…process it. I am not a bad person for showing Jack mercy. I am not a bad person for doing what comes naturally to me…love, compassion, understanding. I couldn’t prevent what happened to Rachel…I didn’t even know her at the time. But…but…I can do my best now. My very best. _

She sniffled, dropping her hand from her teeth.

_I am capable. Not of changing the past but influencing the future. And I do that by being present now. _

A shaky breath exited her. She wiped the remaining tears away before slowly opening her eyes.

_Lead with love, lead with love. _

“S-sorry,” she stuttered out, “I didn’t know that would hit so hard.”

“Lemme guess-.” His tone was scathing. “-you’re reminding yourself what a bad, bad, _bad_ man I am, hm? Apathetic, immoral Joker, killing “innocents” and wreaking havoc.”

“That’s not-.” She sighed. “That’s not all you are. I wouldn’t be here…I wouldn’t waste my energy on you if that’s all there was to you. You’re my-.”

_Soulmate _she longed to say.

“-companion. And…I…_choose_ to be here with you.”

His true feelings were physically closed off to her, but energy-wise they burst from him like water through cracks in a dam.

_Skepticism. Aggravation. Denial._

Seconds passed of silence on his end, his frown deepening the longer he contemplated whatever was on his mind.

“A mouthy clown once told me,” she reminded, trying to mimic his voice, “you’re thinking _far_ too much. Knock it off and let what’s happening, _happen_. Ringing any bells there, mon cheri?”

Her playful tone helped ease some of the tension out of his shoulders. She took a step back and glanced at what was left of the trail.

“Look…you can either fuss over my statement for the remainder of this absolutely _beautiful_ day, or you can bask in this moment with me.”

With that, she continued on her stroll, humming a little as her hands wove up and down like they were rafts on a particularly curvy river.

Only when she was nearly out of view did Joker finally make an attempt to catch up.

“Oh, I almost forgot.”

She halted, causing Joker to grind to a last second stop.

Smiling crookedly, she turned and looked up.

“There’s a janky video store in the heart of the Narrows called _Marvin’s Matinee_. Stop by after five o’clock and ask for an employee by the name of Grant Fowler. You’ll know it’s him if he has one eyebrow missing and looks like he could be a bouncer at a night club. That-.” She tapped the side of her nose. “-is Batman.”

His brows furrowed.

“You’re lying.”

“See how instantaneously you knew that? Please…_keep_ that in mind next time you accuse me of it, okay?”

She offered his bicep a quick squeeze before resuming her pace.

x_X_x_X_x

By the time they reached the house, Celine had accumulated an impressive amount of flowers. She’d done her best to pick only those that’d already been severed from their stalk or uprooted, most likely by a devious rodent.

_A flower crown _she kept mentally chanting, _me thinks a flower crown is in order. _

She’d never constructed one before but believed she could figure out the logistics after a quick scavenge around the perimeters of her home.

Joker was eerily silent, offering no hint as to his current mood. As much as she wanted to pay her companion the proper attention, it was becoming increasingly strenuous as symptoms of the trip made themselves more pronounced. Multi-tasking was becoming impossible, focusing on more than one object or thought at a time was arduous at best. Every other blink produced stenciled outlines of neon colors that seemed to glow brighter the longer she stared at them.

Internally…internally she was over the moon. In fact, she felt like she could do a cartwheel that would propel her _over_ it.

_Why not?_

She gently lowered her flowers, positioned herself at a side angle, and after a few back and forth shuffles – so as to gain momentum - attempted to flip her body over.

_Attempted_ being the key word.

“Ow,” she murmured upon landing awkwardly on her back.

A cloud she was studying morphed into a lightbulb. No, a hot air balloon. No, no, _no_, a sandwich wearing a top hat!

Giggling, she pushed herself up to her feet, careening a little. Breathlessly, she peered around; smile etched into her features. Her whole body buzzed and thrummed with barely concealed joy.

Upon a slow perusal, her smile wavered.

_Did he…go inside? Is he…did he…?_

She did a full pirouette of her environment but failed to locate Joker.

_Huh. I guess I got too silly…even for him. _

It was tough not feeling a stab of disappointment at his absence. Both arms wrapped around her torso, soothing herself with a tight hug.

_It’s okay…you’re not alone…you have me!_

She beamed. Yes, _yes_ she did.

For the next hour – though Celine wouldn’t have known the difference between ten minutes and sixty at that point – she focused her attention on setting up a cozy little spot between the woods and side porch, consisting of a blanket she’d nabbed off the wooden porch swing. She then proceeded to scan the area for more flowers, bendy twigs, and leaves.

Once she thought herself sufficiently loaded up on materials, she skipped over to her garage and got to work searching for some twine she knew was in there but couldn’t for the life of her remember where. It didn’t help she kept on getting sidetracked. Each object her eyes landed on; an emotion rooted in nostalgia would hit.

Years back, nostalgia had been exceptionally painful to feel. At its core, it served as a melancholy reminder of all she would never experience again. A reminder that time marched forward with or without your consent, and death spared neither the heinous nor benevolent.

Now however…being at peace with the temporariness of life…she couldn’t help but smile, marvel, and bask in all the memories. Though she wasn’t necessarily having a good time through some of those moments, she’d had people in her life that loved and cared for her, even when she couldn’t muster up those feelings toward herself. That was a luxury many weren’t afforded, and she counted herself infinitely lucky.

She spent a good chunk of time staring at a black and white framed photo that’d been tucked away deep within a shelf behind the lawn mower. It was of her grandfather Joachim, his wife Imelda, and their four children – all aged at the time between two and twelve. By a quick scan of the back, she discovered it was marked with the date of their first time at the beach house after Joachim’s completion of it. In all her years of living here, she’d never seen this photo, and a myriad of emotions coursed through her as she examined it.

She traced the outline of her mom’s baby face, who appeared puzzled as to why she was being held so long by Joachim. Then her Uncle Reed chewing on some sort of toy she couldn’t make out. He was wrapped up in June’s arms, who was smiling bashfully at the camera, face nearly obscured by Reed’s blonde locks in an attempt to evade its lens. To her right was Lucien – the tallest out of all the children – also seemingly camera-shy as he buried half of his face into Imelda’s apron. Behind them was both the beach house and the vast ocean sprawling over the cliffs.

Not until a few teardrops plopped onto the glass did she realize she’d been crying. Despite half of the occupants being deceased, they were happy tears. Love had kept her family together…been instilled, taught, and showed to the little ones…and they in turn passed this ability onto their kin and so on and so forth.

Love…love…love…the Beatles had it right. Not money, not material possessions, not social standing or title or prestige. Love.

She clutched the frame to her chest and hugged it for all it was worth. One day, when her soul was catapulted into the great vastness of the universe, she would encounter them all…Joachim, Imelda, Nora…_Kathy_…yes…death wasn’t the end, merely a pitstop to something less confining than the human form.

She eventually located the twine in one of the numerous toolboxes, and after wiping away her tears, hustled back to her cozy spot on the grass; getting to work on creating the best flower crown she could.

Halfway through the venture, she abruptly paused and looked down at her hands. She didn’t know how long had passed since the trip gained speed but judging by where the sun was in the sky, she’d not yet hit the peak.

_Wow wow wow…Steph…you really really outdid yourself this time. I think maybe it might be time…yes…time for a reality check._

It was the same question she asked herself on numerous occasions while under the influence of a potent psychedelic. And something she did when determining how drunk she was. Just to give her an idea of where on the spectrum she was sobriety-wise…or rather what remained of her sober state.

_How did World War One begin?_

That she was even able to recall the question informed her she was treading along nicely and probably shouldn’t spark up a joint until after the peak had hit. Though her ability to form coherent thoughts hadn’t yet abandoned her, the visuals and feelings besieging her hinted it would sooner rather than later.

_World War One…World War One…what was…Mrs. Feeney…she wrote…chalkboard…it read…M.A.I.N. Militarism…men…so gung-ho about having troops at the ready, the illusion of peace when soldiers march upon command…Alliances…Europe, a melting pot of suspicion masked by diplomacy…Imperialism…continents forcibly colonized…oh…oh they deserved better…N…Nationalism…feverish pride in arbitrary borders…it wasn’t Gavrilo alone, no…the irony, pungent like copper on the tongue…that he should survive the entirety of it, only to succumb…what was it…what vaccine we now have…tuberculosis…did someone bring him news, provide him updates of all the dominoes he knocked down…the empires propped on brittle bones, shattered and reformed…countries redrawn, independencies declared, royal families casted into obscurity…no he was not responsible alone, men worse than him took turns lighting the keg…he merely succeeded in igniting it…and history always remembers the last handprints, best. _

She shook her head, eyes dropping to her flower crown.

_Let us not linger…with each flower I weave into this, I defy those who would plunge this world into a thousand restless nights. _

Her fingers hastened in speed, emboldened by the frantic beauty of this thought. It was so tempting to dwell on what couldn’t be changed…and that’s what they counted on after all. Let the hopelessness mold you into a mouthy cynic who’d forgotten they had it in them to influence their environment and those in it. Complaining about how bad the world was when they were just as guilty of indifference, of doing nothing to make it better.

The capability to usher in change was not a privilege granted to a handful, but to all. She couldn’t forget this…she couldn’t allow others to forget this.

It was when she was looping the last bit of twine over the stem of a vibrant lily that the sun disappeared. Furrowing her brows, she glanced up.

Joker loomed over her, grasping the handle of what looked to be his sharpest knife. Someone’s blood was still caked onto it. Her gaze traveled up to his face, and immediately the flower crown slipped from her fingers.

Alarms blared so loudly in her ears that she stumbled up to her feet and began peddling backwards.

_Wha-I-I don’t understand. _

His face was once again covered in paint. But no…not his greasepaint. This coloration was familiar for she had gotten it just the evening before.

Her feet didn’t stop retreating until her back struck the rough bark of a tree. She did her best not to panic, eyes searching for some sort of emotion that made sense. He’d covered his face again…diluting her acrylics paint with water by the looks of it…it was getting difficult to tell; the colors spread and receded into their respective lines like fluctuating seas.

“Having a good time, _Cece_?”

His voice was venom pinched out of a struggling cobra that would perish from the endeavor.

_There is no light to be found in charcoal so black._

Goosebumps raced up and down her arms, each elevating bump more painful than the last. All that’d been warm and good and safe and peaceful struggled not to abandon ship. There was an iceberg ahead and it sought to do her vessel harm.

“J-Jack,” she breathed out, voice trembling. “W-what are you doing?”

He closed the remaining distance between them, forcing her to push into the bark until distress was all her body knew.

“What’s it look like, sweets? Doing what _I_ do best,” he answered, stopping an arm’s length away. “These past few hours have certainly been _uh_ en-_ter_-**_taining_**, I’ll hand it to ya there. Not as dull as I pegged ya for. But _alas_…boredom is a bitch, and I’m getting _reeeeall_ irritated by her nagging.”

He ran the hand holding his knife, through his hair. She couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

Joker’s grin was malevolent. He cocked his head to the side.

“Oh no _no no_, don’t you worry your pretty _little_ head off…I’m not gonna kill ya.” He wiggled his blade back and forth. “This _here_…he’s got business with your uncle…and your aunt…and everyone else you not _so_ smartly led me to.”

She tried to breathe, but nothing came in or out. Her lungs protested at the lack of oxygen. The world around her was becoming ominous and bleak and suffocating.

“I…I-.”

“_I-I_,” he mocked, fist jerking back and forth near his eye, pretending to shed a tear. “_I_ think I’m gonna start with your favorite Uncle Lucien. And just for _you_ I’ll make it slow. Wouldn’t wanna miss the chance to say your goodbyes to him, now would you?’

Her knees buckled. The fingernails of her bandaged hand clawed uselessly into the bark.

Strangely, her brain was empty. Refreshingly empty. She understood what he was threatening to do, but her body was the only part of her responding.

“Now I was thinking of using this one.” He brought the blade up to her eyes, letting her study it. “Penetrates the organs like you _wouldn’t_ believe. But I promised ya I’d make it slow, didn’t I? So maybe something a little…_lighter_ will do the trick.”

He took his time pocketing the knife in his hand, instead bringing out what looked like a carving blade.

“Mmm, yes, yes, _yes_,” he mused, index finger pressing down on the tip until he drew blood. “Gil was _very_ familiar with this one. Whadda ya say? Slice off a few of your Uncle’s fingers so you don’t feel so alone, hm?

She gulped, not trusting her voice to speak.

“I’ll move on to his wife next, and then Aunty June…I’ll even thank her _personally_ -.” He grabbed his crotch. “-for that scrum-**_p_**-tious apple cider. Hope ah the hubby doesn’t mind.”

She willed her body to move. To do something. _Anything_.

“Oh, don’t you _fret_.” He patted her on the head with no shortage of patronization. “Like I said, I’ll let ya live. Serve as a reminder…_never_ invite a wolf into a henhouse. So, so, so, _so_ many hens, why…I don’t know what to do with them all! Mm…but I’m _sure_ I’ll figure it out.”

On the verge of passing out, Celine finally found the ability to exhale.

“Ya know I gotta wonder.” He suddenly grabbed her by the hair and slipped the curve of his blade into her parted mouth. “If I looked up the word naïve in the dictionary, there wouldn’t be a pretty little picture of you next to it. ‘Cos no matter how hard ya try denying it, that’s what you are. Resilient as the bravado you wear, beneath it you’re nothing more than an _open_ nerve. And you’ve made it _so_ convenient to sink my fingernails in.”

He brought his face up to hers until they were nearly touching noses. His tongue darted out to lap at each scar. Mania bled out of his eyes and into his expression.

“But maybe what I wanna thank you for _most_ of all is the _thoughtful_ jacking material you’ve provided me for _years_ to come. Putting your trust in someone _haha _someone like…_me_. Mm…that…_that_ should be the basis of your essay. The Nature of Shame, starring the in-_comparable_ Celine Harlow.”

All the neon lines had by this point vanished. The vibrancy of her environment had dulled. And interiorly…interiorly she was…at a standstill. She wasn’t sure why; he was going to kill her family. He had a knife in her mouth. Shouldn’t she be experiencing horror? Disgust? Shame? Guilt?

“W-wow.” She swallowed, not entirely sure what was going to come out. “You really _are_ obsessed with me.”

He cocked his head at this, slowly retracting his blade from her mouth.

One of her hands slipped into her pocket and withdrew her compact mirror. Briefly taking her eyes off him, she stared at her reflection.

It was odd, she knew how to respond, but needed the courage of meeting her own eyes to do it.

“I-I would feel awful if you killed my family,” she admitted, mesmerized by the calming blue staring back. “But…when that guilt passes…and it _will_…I’ll see with clarity. You…killed them…to prove a point. That point isn’t that I’m foolish for trusting people…that point is…you’re…petty…and sad…and…_afraid_…and…_alone_…and you want others…to live in that world…_too_. I’ll still…feel…empathy toward you…even if in the form of pity…and I’ll learn…to love myself again…for _it_.”

She was blinking back tears, overwhelmed by the depth of compassion reflecting back at her.

_When did I learn to love in such an unconditional way?_

Her intuition responded.

_When you learned to trust in yourself and just…be._

She flipped the mirror shut and looked at Joker, smiling weakly.

Without warning, he drew back his knife and rammed it as hard as he could into _the bark_ directly above her head. Her full-bodied flinch nearly caused her skull to strike the blade.

“Weird.” He stepped back and began to pace, murmuring under his breath. “Weird, weird, _weird_ one I’ve chosen. My job to be weird, _mine_. But _noooo_, she’s gotta outdo me without even trying.”

She wasn’t sure if he aware he was voicing his thoughts aloud.

_With his penchant for theatrics, I think you found a new member to take to improv with the Cheekbones._

It took her seemingly forever to understand what her intuition was getting at.

“Jack,” she ventured, rubbing the bark up and down. “Um…were you really going to kill my family?”

He froze and pinned her with a mildly exasperated look. Which she’d have taken the time to appreciate better as it was rare for him to wear altogether, but the neon lines had suddenly returned, making squiggles around the various paint lines of his face.

“’Course not, wouldn’t ah be very _gentlemanly_, now would it?”

Her mouth dropped open.

This seemed to improve his spirits somewhat.

“Man of my word, Cece. ‘S long as I’m not provoked, your little country bumpkins won’t end up _carved _pumpkins.”

She had to battle down a disturbing urge to laugh.

“You fucked with me.”

“_Duh_.”

Her knees gave out. She slumped to the ground.

“Why?”

His shrug was nonchalant.

“You were _really_ touting your ability to come back from a bad trip yesterday. Figured I’d uh give you a little test to see just how good you were. Con-_gratulations_.” He offered her a mock round of applause. “You passed with _flying_ colors. And ah _probably_ seeing some too, hm?”

If she wasn’t in such a calm headspace, she would strongly debate strangling him.

_I can’t channel those emotions right now, they’re volatile and sit at the edge of a slippery slope. I really might dive into a bad trip. As difficult as it is, I need to accept and move on. Tomorrow…tomorrow I’m going to chop off his nuts. Today…he keeps them._

She offered him a hesitant nod.

“Yeah…t-they’re all around your eyes and cheeks and mouth. Did…did you use my acrylics?”

“Mhm.”

“You should probably wash them off soon,” she suggested. “Leave them on too long…too long and-.”

A cloud shaped like a flailing octopus briefly distracted her. More clouds merged with it, creating a MEGAoctopus.

Joker snapped his fingers in front of her a few times.

She looked at him with wide eyes.

“-toxic…and difficult to…wash off. I like your face…I like it a lot…but I like it best…without the paint. You’re so…damn handsome it hurts my-.” She gestured down to her pelvis region. “-ovaries.”

Her head slumped back, a goofy grin plastering itself onto her face.

“Can’t tell if you’re serious or ya lost it.”

She giggled.

“Both, I think.”

His lips twitched at the admission. He offered her a mock bow.

“As my bunny wishes.”

He turned to go back to the house, but she lunged upward and caught him by the sleeve of his dress shirt before he could.

“Um…” She teetered in place; Joker grasping her by the arm to steady her. “Could you maybe please…take that knife out of the tree? I-it did nothing to deserve it.”

“It’s just a tr-.”

“_Please_.”

He grumbled something unintelligible before extending his arm and wrenching the blade out.

“_Happy_?”

She nodded shyly.

While he was inside – hopefully removing the paint and not concocting another plan to mess with her – Celine finished up her flower crown. Structurally, it didn’t look the best, but that was the furthest thing from her mind. Pinks, whites, blues, reds, purples…they were harmoniously woven upside down and right-side up, separated occasionally by a green leaf. Two bendy twigs ended up twined together to support the headdress, and she was still marveling at it by the time Joker returned.

“Bit arts and crafty,” he mentioned upon taking it in. “Can’t tell if you or a toddler made it.”

She looked up at him and then down at the crown. Up at him, down at the crown.

Joker picked up on what she was about to ask before she could even open her mouth.

“Ah _no_.”

Her feet shuffled toward him and perhaps for the first time in his entire life, Joker was the one casually retreating.

“But…I need to see it…fully realized,” she struggled to explain, unable to keep the loopy half-grin off her face. “And I can’t think of a more…suitable person.”

“No.”

“There’s no one arou-.”

“NO.”

“But-.”

“**_No_**.”

Her body wanted to sink into the ground. What could she say, what could she do to convince him?

With a soft, sullen sigh, she clasped her hands behind her, jutted out her bottom lip in the pout of the century, and furrowed her brows like a thoroughly defeated puppy. She threw in a few sniffles for good measure.

Joker rolled his eyes.

“Not happening, sweets. Pouting like that’s only gonna get that lip in trouble.”

She sucked it in and peeked up at him, blinking a few times.

“Promise?”

It came out much breathier than intended, and remarkably, did its job.

Joker stifled a grunt, running a palm over his face.

“Really living up to my pet name, aren’t ya?”

“Adorable is as adorable does,” she returned quietly, offering him the crown.

He snatched it and rotated it a few times, doing little to hold back his frown.

“You’re gonna owe me for this, and I _fully_ intend to collect.”

Without waiting for her to agree, he placed it on his head. It wasn’t on all that firmly, so he tightened it with a few back and forth jerks.

The moment it was properly on him, Celine’s mouth popped open.

“_Oh_.”

Her heart felt like it was going to soar out of her throat, expand into a bubble, and absorb Joker’s body; effectively keeping him safeguarded inside like a priceless treasure.

He crossed his arms and glared at her, but not even the most murderous expression could take away from how…how…devastatingly _precious_ he looked.

Though her movements at this point in the trip needed to be thought out, her reaction was almost instantaneous.

Before Joker could protest and tear the crown off, she took out her cell phone, brought up the camera function, and snapped a photo of him.

His growl and subsequent snatching of her phone was, in her humble opinion, worth it.

“Agreed to try it on, not to model.”

He pocketed her phone, ripped off the crown and threw it to the ground.

She blinked at it, noticing a few petals had gotten tangled in Joker’s hair.

“What’d ya expect?” he groused at her crestfallen expression. “That I put it on and suddenly everything is peaches and _rainbows_? Might be your overall disposition, but it ah certainly isn’t mine.”

He voiced this with a mixture of pride and bite. Like a pitbull eying the hand it’d bitten with a twinkle in its eye.

_He fears giving in…not to goodness…not to kindness…though mistakenly that’s what he thinks it is. How do we make him see? How do we make him understand?_

She pinched the interior of her palm, trying to arrange her thoughts. The trip was adamant in pulling her in deeper, but before she could let it, something important needed to be said. Something important needed to be cleared up. And in order for this to happen, she needed just a sliver of sobriety, some intuitive wisdom, and a dose of heart.

Carefully, she lowered herself down onto the grass, crossed her legs and rested her hands atop her knees.

“Join me…if you want.”

He remained standing.

“It’s not going to hurt anything, I promise,” she sounded out, focusing on her breathing. “Please?”

He’d threatened _a_ _lot_ of people over the course of his life, but none of them retained their manners the way Celine did. It was a kryptonite of his, he realized in that moment. No matter what he put her through, no matter what mask he wore, no matter what threat he made, no matter the _scars_ \- she still believed him to be deserving of common courtesy.

“Better be quick,” was all he said.

He plopped down in front of her, wearing a contemptuous half frown. Unconsciously, he mirrored her crossed legs, scanning every inch of her; on guard, for this was an uncommon position for him to be in.

_Tenderly now…too long has he learned lessons harshly._

“You were upset earlier,” she stated, peering directly into his eyes. “When I cried for Rachel. You accused me of seeing you as nothing more than your…menacing qualities.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but she held a hand up.

“Let me just…get this out,” she continued, brows knitting together. “I can…weep for Rachel _and_ still choose to be here with you. Both complexities exist in me…that…that’s what it means to be human.”

He considered her statement through narrowed lids.

“I’ve found the most complex individuals to be…the most _fascinating_. And you…are every bit as complex as I am. Yet…you…_shy_ away from it. You…fight to accept…duality within you. Duality…a defining feature of the human experience. Is it…do you no longer consider yourself human?”

She refused to lower her gaze, prompting Joker to tighten his jaw.

“Mm…knock it off with the pseudo-psychology bullshit,” he rebuked “You’re projecting, don’t you see? Duality of man only applies to those too indecisive to pick a side. I’ve _chosen_ mine.”

“I-it’s not about sides. John…Aesop…they stood on the same side as you…and still…they were capable of experiencing…of feeling…that which exists within us all.” Her eyes dropped to his balled-up fists. “Some…choose to spend their whole lives burying it…after all…once buried, you don’t expect it to rise again. But…isn’t it…”

She inhaled, bringing her hands together. Everything leaving her lips was coming straight from the heart…she just hoped it didn’t come off as preachy. Joker was _not_ one to be preached to.

“Isn’t it nice?” She looked up at him. “To be reminded that life…can _still_ surprise you. That people…can still surprise you. That you…don’t know yourself as well as you thought you did.”

He didn’t answer.

“I understand now, more than ever, the importance of meeting John.” She ignored his glower. “I thought he had…_compromised_ me. I thought that in caring for him…I was…losing myself. But…that’s not the case. I was…expanding…growing…seeing myself more fully, from a step further than I…normally would. Meeting John…prepared me for you.”

His jaw slackened at this. She offered him her hands.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

She meant for this to sound reassuring, but he must have deemed it a challenge. In no time, his calloused hands were tightly gripping hers.

“If you really believe you’ve chosen a side,” she said. “Then…I shouldn’t still be alive, should I? You and I…we shouldn’t be here, should we?”

His answer didn’t need to be announced, it was clear to them both.

“Which means…duality exists within you. You’re beginning to see a depth to yourself…a depth that for some reason…uneases you.”

“_Doesn’t_ unease me,” he argued, quieter than she expected. “I know _very_ well where that depth leads.”

She cocked a brow, fighting down a smile.

“So…” She gazed around their environment before locking eyes back onto him. “You predicted all this, did you?” Her tone was light and teasing, making sure he was _in_ on the joke, _not_ the butt of it. “Meeting my Uncle, swimming outside my childhood home, hanging out in my treehouse…wow…impressive…not only a physically skilled clown, but a psychic one too.”

He tried to keep his lip twitching to a minimal.

“You know you’re lucky I let ya be so mean to me.”

Her eyes grew brighter. She pulled one of his hands to her mouth and pretended to assault it with a few feverish chomps. He yanked it back, propelling her forward a bit. Their hands remained fastened to one another.

The air around them shifted, though Celine was more sensitive to it. Suddenly, things weren’t so heavily charged. And she knew Joker was in a more open headspace to listen to what she was saying.

“You’ve been accepting that depth since the moment you met me,” she revealed, tightening her hold on him. “And so have I. You’re…not in this alone. The key…the key I’ve discovered…is…what you told me yesterday. Don’t think…so much…about it. Go with the flow. Enjoy the moment. The power…of _acceptance_. Few can manage it…they dig in their heels…bastardize their environment until it matches their perception…so as to avoid knowing themselves deeper. So as to avoid being…wrong.”

His half grin slipped a little.

“I have _no_ problems accepting the inevitable.”

“Only if it benefits your perception of the world,” she pointed out. “Take it from someone who used to dread being wrong…you fail to see that not all inevitabilities…are bad. Not all inevitabilities turn out how we think they will. We paint that picture from our own experience…and stub out anything and anyone…who try to help us…take a step…back.”

She abruptly got onto her knees, fingers slipping in between his. Licking her lips, she gazed at him; examining him as he truly was for the first time since being his hostage.

“There is a lesson attempting to be taught to you, Jack. One that…for the first time in your life…you’re at a level to learn. I certainly…won’t push you toward it. It’s on you to want to be challenged…but…I do want you to know.” Again, she brought one of his hands up to her lips, this time, offering his knuckles the gentles of brushes. “You won’t be alone in learning it. I…am just as uncertain of what awaits. But…instinct tells me…it tells me…you’re…_worth_ it.”

She gently released him, so very relieved to finally get that off her chest.

“Hm.” He cocked his head, studying her slightly swaying form. “I gotta piss.”

He stood, turned, and without looking back, walked back to the house.

She blinked.

_He’s gotta piss._

Her body dropped backwards onto the grass. She started laughing and couldn’t stop for two whole minutes.

When the fit finally receded, she got up and wandered toward the porch. Joker’s aversion tactic should have irked her – and maybe if she were sober it would have – but she had no time to feel anything other than satisfied.

It was like a big secret she’d been housing, and in revealing to him such honesty, she felt liberated from a burden she’d not realized was so hefty to bear. There was something at work between them, and she thought it worth pursuing. This acknowledgment could no longer guilt trip her; and she refused to let him hold it over her. Could acceptance taste any sweeter?

She nabbed one of the bubble bottles she’d earlier set outside for a possibility such as this one and proceeded to blow a slew of various sized bubbles. Her feet crept after them with each blow, wanting so badly to hop atop one and ride it off into the horizon.

From inside the house, Joker glared at her through a window. Once again, he was stroking the handle of his sharpest blade. Her monologue played on repeat in his head.

_Smug, mouthy bitch. Self-righteous, pretentious, conniving-._

His hand burned from how tightly he clutched the weapon. With an inhuman grunt, he brought back his arm and stabbed into the wall above the window nine separate times; movements so wild and erratic he didn’t realize right away bits of plaster and wallpaper had chipped off into his hair.

Panting heavily, he stared at the damage he’d done, knife hand shaking. His gaze returned to Celine.

_Foolish…virtuous…soft…trusting…so easy to just…just…_

He was sprinting out the door half a second later.

Celine had one hand extended, so very close to slipping a finger beneath the biggest bubble she’d blown yet. Her toes were centimeters from the edge of the cliff, a bright grin fixed on her face.

_Very nearly…almost…_

She was abruptly yanked backwards just as her fingernail managed to touch the bubble. To her immense disappointment, it popped. And not a moment later, her body landed on someone solid beneath her; a pair of arms shackling around her waist.

She sighed sadly as Joker propped her up to sit. He made no move to remove his arms.

“I almost had it,” she lamented, leaning back against him. “So, _so_ close.”

“Close to what, becoming a quadriplegic?” he retorted, discretely steadying his breaths. “Ques-_tionable_ ambition, sweets, and that’s coming from _me_.” He buried his nose in her hair, grip tightening on her. “At this point, I’m strong-**_ly_** considering handcuffing ya to me…you’re _clearly_ a clutz.”

She shivered in his hold and finally gave in to the urge to bare her neck to him.

Joker – emboldened by drive, instinct, and something deeper he didn’t care to examine – wasted no time assaulting her with wet, sloppy kisses. He then followed them up with a series of sharp, teasing nips that had her unsuccessfully stifling down giggles. He was only moderately aware of his legs coiling around the woman in his hold, like a snake laying claim to the perfect meal.

“Not…a…clutz,” she tried to defend, closing her eyes and biting her lower lip. “I knew where the edge was…I just…”

He sucked a particularly tingly hickey into her neck, forcing her to lose focus on what she meant to say.

“No…fair. You’re not…allowed to use…sexual…warfare…on me.”

He casually palmed one of her breasts and shook it, earning him a noise stranded between a moan and a purr.

“No? Says _who_?”

She tried to wiggle out of his arms, but Joker wasn’t having any of it.

“I says,” she declared, peeking up at him. “You must comply…or risk…eternal damnation!”

“Mm…doctors would tell you I was damned the day I was born.”

A laugh shot out of her.

“Yeah?” She cocked her head. “Did um…lights flicker? Birthing chair shake? Every priest in the vicinity…BURST into flames!”

“Hinting at something are we?”

She shook her head.

“No…no, you’re too…fun to be the antichrist. And hell on Earth…would be so…boring. Everything destroyed…could you imagine…never having another twinkie again?”

“A clown shudders at the thought.”

Closing her eyes, she relaxed against his chest and smiled.

Joker relayed commands to his limbs to release her, but they were apparently staging a mutiny, and after a few seconds he found himself not caring all that much anyway. It was becoming less startling how effortless it was to succumb to her…and more…natural…_right_.

He shook his head, ridding himself of that line of thinking…until he was alone at least, and she wouldn’t be on the immediate receiving end of his conclusions.

“So,” he remarked, twirling one of her silver locks, “what _ah_ what’s next on the agenda?”

“Beach?” she murmured. “Sunset, eventually. Music. Sandcastles. Maybe a fire. Marshmallows? Fuck it all if I care, so long’s you’re with me.”

He stiffened at the proclamation.

“Not especially bright of you,” he reminded, “putting so much…trust in me.”

Opening one eye, she studied him.

“I flunked out of college, mon cheri. Safe to say brightness isn’t one of my shining attributes.”

He ignored the attempt at humor, contemplating her seriously.

“I should kill you.”

“Yeah.” She tilted her head. “What else is new?”

Her nonchalant response combined with the dazed smile she wore produced a reluctant twitching from his lips. His arms loosened around her just the slightest.

“I suppose I oughta hear your rap first before making any rash decisions, hm?”

She failed to contain her groan.

“Nevermind! Make it quick!”

His belly laugh shook not only his body, but hers too.

“C’mon bunny.” He jabbed two fingers into a spot in her side he remembered she was ticklish in. “Let’s get ya back to the beach…a beach bunny! _Ha!_ Really outdid myself with that pet name, didn’t I?”

She bit her lip, rubbing her ribcage absently.

“Try, try, try to understand….” she belted. “You’re a magic _maaaaaaan_!”

Rolling his eyes, he attempted to dig into her opposite side, but with her newfound freedom she managed to roll off of him, stagger up to her feet, and shoot off toward the house.

Joker took his sweet time standing up, grinning crookedly as she zig-zagged across the lawn before abruptly tripping over her feet and landing in the grass. His cackle scared off all birds in the nearby vicinity. Not a second later he darted after her.


	31. Chapter 31

Two full hours passed before they were finally able to make it down to the beach; the sun nearly halfway to the horizon. In retrospect, it was mostly Celine’s doing, though in actuality, Joker was equally as culpable.

It all began the moment she stumbled through the front door and snatched the Nerf gun off of the coat rack. Out of the five shots she managed his way, three struck him; and one had the misfortune of ending up halfway inside his parted mouth.

She lost herself to an endless cycle of giggles as Joker bit through the foam of the bullet; effectively snapping the dart in two before spitting it out. What ensued was perhaps the most chaotic game of hide and seek ever engaged in.

Now Celine knew her house well. Sober, drunk, high, tripping balls…she could strut the halls in her sleep. But it was another thing entirely attempting to evade a severely determined clown. One whose whoops and grunts and playful yet sinister taunts of “_C’mere wascally wabbit!_” followed by the extension of his hands in a grabbing motion, served to further disorient the accident-prone woman.

The chase seemed endless, Joker never paused for breath, and she lost count of the amount of times her hips bounced off of the corners of tables or chairs. Twice she nearly bent her big toe in half from the sharp veers she took around doors and the legs of furniture. The mushrooms made her feel like her movements were slower than they actually were, causing her to speed up and inevitably run face-first into the closed door of her mom’s room; nearly toppling poor Jim Morrison to the floor with her.

To Joker’s credit, his rancorous, eardrum-piercing laughter lasted no more than five minutes. And thankfully, such a solid collision allowed Celine to pass out for four minutes out of the five.

By the time she came to, Joker had carried her into the bathroom, set her down on the edge of the seashell sink, and was in the middle of impeding a nosebleed that seemed to gush without pause.

Her forehead throbbed something fierce, and she did her best not to pay any mind to that pain. Instead, she focused on the man in between her parted legs, looming over her, a quiet hum rattling in his throat. She focused on the sturdy yet remarkably soft pinches his thumb and index finger made over her nostrils. When the bleeding eventually ceased, she focused on the way he ran the warm washcloth over and along her cheeks, mouth, chin, and neck; effectively wiping away every last drop of crimson that’d leaked out of her.

“You’re good at this,” she mumbled at one point, listening to nothing else but his steady breaths. “Didn’t think you…possessed such…_such_…”

Her hand flopped uselessly through the air, searching for the right word.

“Tact.”

He didn’t respond, but her intuition picked up on his unspoken thought.

_You’re the only one who deserves it._

His gaze hardened a second later, revealing to her that even in the privacy of his own mind, such a vulnerable acknowledgement wasn’t welcome. She wanted so very badly to thank him but chose to bite down on her tongue instead. Injury aside, she was enjoying this more humane version of Joker…it’d be a shame to chase him away when he so rarely visited.

“I’m gonna feel this all so badly tomorrow,” she mumbled, eyes fluttering shut. “I swear…I _swear_ I’m not usually so…but…I’ve never been chased by…or as distracted as I am with…”

She trailed off, half-tempted to sink into a thirty second nap.

Joker had other ideas. He gifted her with a sharp slap across the cheek that woke her right back up. The sting was faint, but she massaged the area regardless.

“No falling asleep on me,” he ordered, grabbing her by the chin and inspecting her. “Because you consumed your _happy_ vegetables, I can’t tell if you’re concussed or not.”

“Look at the company I’m keeping,” she managed out. “Brain can’t be more damaged than it already is, can it?”

His frown remained, but a dark sort of mirth twinkled in his eyes.

“God,” she blurted. “You’re so beautiful.”

He instantly recoiled from her.

“Don’t worry.” She waved off his fears with a lopsided grin. “That’s the concussion talking. I want to feel the ridges of your scars against my neck. That’s the concussion talking too. Celine is no longer here; this is her cousin…Connie Cu’ssion…I go by Con mostly…nice to meet you.”

She extended a hand. Joker stared at it.

“I come from land of Agartha,” she followed up, then lowered her tone. “But don’t tell anyone…you see…we have access to O-I-L. And I don’t want the U-S-A to find out. Otherwise, we’ll be S-O-L. Comprender?”

She made a clicking noise and offered him a wink.

His brows drew together.

“Agartha? That uh the alleged lost city in the Earth’s core?”

“Very good.” She beamed at him. “You know how nice…how good…it feels…to…meet someone who knows that kinda stuff. Oddball stuff. Random facts. Sometimes I think…it’s more isolating…to be curious. People are just content…being told how the world works. The dreamers get shot, the curious-minded castrated…we see…we see what happens to those like us.” Her index and middle finger formed into a V and gestured at her eyes, then at various directions in the bathroom. “And we gotta…be careful. You can be curious, but not too curious. You can propose change, but it needs to be pre-approved. Dream only within the established perimeter.”

She leaned toward him. He was wildly curious about the tangent she was riding, so resumed his position between her legs, allowing her to slip both arms around his neck.

“The world,” she said, “is run by cocaine and Red Bull. And I’m afraid…someone’s cut the brakes to the car. I don’t want to get off, I just want to slow down.”

She cupped his cheeks, blinking in what felt like slow motion.

“Oh…”

Tears unexpectedly gathered in her eyes.

“_What_?”

It was gruff and acerbic, but Celine took it as a win that he even bothered asking.

She shook her head, mouth opening and closing. Her thumbs gently brushed the underside of his eye sockets.

“Andy Warhol should have painted you.”

Before he could respond, she lifted her chin and placed a soft kiss on the center of his forehead.

Joker turned rigid as a corpse. Had she not been as close as she was, she’d be convinced he’d stopped breathing altogether.

“Too quickly I am encroaching on foreign territory,” she noted, pulling back to examine him. “I apologize. There are no boundaries for me in this state. Or rather…no fear of crossing them. I will respect yours. In fact…I know what will do the trick!”

She jumped off the sink and slipped past him.

For fifteen or so minutes, she rummaged around the kitchen for something. Joker observed her with crossed arms, amused when she got distracted by the view outside or a magnet on the refrigerator or struck by the sudden urge to read the ingredients of all the seasonings on her spice rack.

“A-ha!”

She located the object of her search, having to jump in the air to reach it on the third most cupboard shelf. Throwing on the cold tap water, she worked on filling the sprayable bottle until it was all the way full.

“Here.” She turned and offered him the bottle. “I used to use this on my little cousins when they annoyed me. Anytime I’m being bad…invasive… just-.” Her finger pulled down on the trigger, releasing a stream of water to Joker’s right. “-spray me down.”

Joker accepted the bottle, trying very hard not to smirk.

He aimed the nozzle at her face and sprayed her five or six times. She managed to get her eyes closed in time, the jets of water striking her cheeks and forehead.

A crazed giggle escaped him.

“Thoughtful as the gesture is,” he said, “I can think of far more sui-**_table_** punishments in the event that you uh…decide to be a bad bunny.”

Her eyes popped open.

“Like what? Time out?”

Joker bit down hard on his lip. Her legitimate befuddlement had him conflicted on how lecherous he should be.

“We’ll discuss it further when you’re all sobered u-**_p_**,” he decided. “For now, this’ll do.”

She opened her mouth to respond, only to have it filled with eight rapid squirts of water.

“Ah!” She turned away from him, blocking her face. “I’ve given you too much power.”

“That you have, sweets. And I _don’t_ intend on relinquishing it.”

Joker was apparently riding a power high because for the next ten minutes Celine was back to maneuvering around the house, doing her best not only to avoid his grasp, but the awesome range of his newly acquired weapon.

It was by a twist of fate that she recognized her Nerf gun discarded beneath the dining room table. By the time she emerged from the other side, she and Joker were locked in a classic Western showdown.

“Give it up you crooked-mouthed bastard,” she threatened, aiming at what she thought was his throat (Joker hadn’t the heart nor desire to tell her she was facing the wrong direction). “Surrender now and I’ll let you walk away no lesser a man than the day your momma sprung you out from between her legs.”

Joker lowered himself down in a chair, scars twitching violently from how hard he was working at suppressing his laughter. He cupped a hand around his mouth.

“That’s some foul, _foul_ language coming from such a pretty little lady. Sure that mouth of yours isn’t better occupied around my cock?”

“I _am_ a lady,” she returned, narrowing her gaze. “You’d do well to treat me like one.”

Joker raised the spray bottle, but before he could pull the trigger, Celine pivoted ninety degrees to her right and released the last ten darts left in her gun. All ten struck him either on the chin, jugular, or upper chest.

“Gotcha!” She threw her arms up in the air. “My house, Jack! I’d know where you were in my sleep.”

Sadly, her victory was short-lived. A handful of minutes later found her crushed up against the kitchen sink, Joker’s hips keeping her pinned in place while one hand snuck beneath her chin to tilt it upward and the other hand nimbly uncapped the spray bottle above her.

“No no no _no no_-.” 

He thumbed off the cap and dumped what remained of the water onto her head.

She spent the next few minutes trying to thrash out of his grasp, but he only tightened his hold around her midsection, giggling freely at the wet mess of a woman in his arms.

“Shh shh _shh_,” he encouraged, rubbing his scarred cheek against her, the tips of his fingers tracing the outline of her journal. “We’ll get you _allll_ dried off in no time.”

She finally slumped against him, attempting to blow at a few wet strands glued to her forehead.

“You’re not a graceful loser, are you?”

“Mmm…what ever gave you that impression?”

It was hopeless holding back a few hearty chuckles at that. Those chuckles soon became sharp, chest-heaving chortles that transitioned into tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. Joker merely observed her reddening cheeks with a satisfied half-grin.

“Don’t let me go,” she was able to manage out, head lolling from side to side. “I fear my bones have turned into Jell-O.”

“Yeah?” He prodded at her collarbone, eliciting another giggle from her. “Mm…speaking of…we ah…get around to eating today?”

She tilted her head up to study him better. Her pupils were blown wide; an enchanting sort of joviality galloping around them.

“_Yup_.”

Her stomach chose that moment to disagree.

“Has it…really been so long?” she marveled, searching her environment for a clock.

“Nearing the four-hour mark,” he answered. “Best we get something in ya, hm?”

“’M fine…no need.”

“Wasn’t asking, sweets.”

He proceeded to lift her up and position her on the counter, leaning her back slightly so her skull rested against the back of a cabinet.

Celine watched Joker amble around her kitchen, opening up various items they’d gotten at Wal-Mart the evening before. He had the hindsight to grab one of the water bottles sitting on the counter and toss it her way. She wasn’t exactly prepared for the throw and it ended up bouncing off her forehead and dropping into her lap.

_This isn’t…it’s not…the same man who held me hostage. _

She took a few sips of water, silently examining this thought. It was and it wasn’t. Joker was still there with her, but…he had no reason to be violent, to be manipulative, cut-throat, cunning.

“No reason,” she mumbled softly to herself, tilting her head as he piled high a plate of junk food. “What gives him reason? Society…or the individual? Anarchist or psychopath? Stands to reason…society. But I am a part of society…granted, it’s not my ideal society…I survive within the established guidelines…try to do good, make an impact from within…he seeks to destroy the system in place…and to do that, one must target individuals…I am not a target, but in his eyes a means to an end…I am not an enforcer of the guidelines, I recognize the culture is sick…life should not be like this…_pay…pay_…_pay your bills, gently crush your dreams_…we are all programmed to silence the idealist within…it should not be like this…yes, yes I understand, I know…peaceful disobedience works…for a time…but violence…why it instills fear like no other…we avoid the uncomfortable conversation with ourselves regarding our frailty…”

Her gaze dropped to her hands. She sought out the pulse point on the inside of her right thumb and pressed it against her lips.

“I have the capacity to inflict violence…to get my point across…I do, but unnaturally does it come…and at what price? The price of waking up a stranger to myself. I like who I am now…the trajectory that has been my life…the worst of it needed to be experienced…in my bones, in my soul, in my cells I know I am becoming the person I’m meant to…but still…I’ve not cracked the code…how can I get them to listen without placing them in a position of mortal danger? Nothing is valued as preciously as life…what do I do…what do I do…is it even my duty to tackle this problem…perhaps I disappear…yes, yes…I disappear where I am beyond the reach of the systemic sickness I tolerate.”

She was lost in a trance for close to a minute before her eyes averted to Joker.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you hate being psychoanalyzed.”

He mulled over his response carefully, gaze rooting her in place.

“You know where doctors go wrong?” he asked. “All of them do it, doesn’t matter who gets assigned to me.”

She shook her head, soothed by the unexpected calmness of his voice.

“They’ve made up their minds already.” He approached her with a mesmerizing sort of stillness…like a switch had been flicked on that’d not been touched in quite some time. “The lack of objectivity on their part is frankly _disturbing_…they’re our academics, our brightest lightbulbs in the bunch…the least they could do…is hear a guy out. But no…they’ve prescribed me my medications before my back touches the chair of that first session…they’ve narrowed my nature down to two disorders and a combination of three environmental factors. You see, at that point I’m their guinea pig…a predictive factor in a series of hypothesis’s formed without my consent. They don’t want to learn, no, no, _no_…they want to be right…and now, _now_ it’s just fun…yanking them in the direction they want me to go. Collared I might be, but make no mistake, _I’ve_ got control of the leash.”

His eyes were glowing, radiating…the presence within had been seeking to relay this for ages. A finnicky sort of tension invaded his body…and would continue to until she offered up a response.

“I-I’m sorry,” she repeated, wanting so badly to initiate physical contact but knowing he needed the comfort of autonomy…of not feeling he was being restrained in any capacity.

“**_Why_**? In the mood to play peacekeeper? Issue an apology on their behalf?”

His jaw was clenched so tight it tautened the skin around his jawbone.

She shook her head, blinking a few times.

“I’m sorry that it took me this long…to see you.”

With that, she lowered her head and stared at her hands, focusing on her own interior tranquility. Out of nowhere she was struck by an urge to strip herself of all her clothes and launch herself into the sun. She would not vaporize, but rather become one with the hydrogen-powered star.

Joker cocked his head to the side.

“I can’t remember the last time someone’s apologized to me without the fear of death as a motivator.”

She grinned and looked up at him; wildly amused by this admission.

Joker’s eyes kept straying down to her lips. Whatever tension previously holding him hostage, slowly released him. His scars trembled from the smile he was suppressing.

He suddenly grew serious and slipped a finger beneath her chin, making sure her eyes were on him.

“There’s not a corner of this planet you could disappear to that I wouldn’t find you.”

She removed his hand and took to holding it instead.

“What makes you think you’re not invited to disappear with me?”

His mouth parted just the slightest.

“You never considered that possibility, did you?” Though he wasn’t one to shy away from eye contact, the openness reflecting back at him was more daunting than he cared to admit to. “You still have something to prove to them. Personally…I think you have already…it’s the reason why you’ve been bored for quite some time now…what’s left then, but to up the ante…what’s your ideal way to do it?”

“Do _what_?”

She meant to respond but noted at the last second just how violently his hand was quivering in hers.

“Boundaries,” she recalled, releasing his hand. “Sorry. We’ll visit that territory at a later time.”

She tried to hop down and move around him, but he caged her in with his arms and glared down at her.

“What’s my ideal way to do _what_?”

“I’m afraid to say,” she answered honestly. “For fear that you’d deem me too clever at reading you. You are…a conflict of wants, desires, and feelings. You want me to know you deeper, but only that which is surface-level…but I cannot help it…it is in my nature to delve in…excavate…bring to light and discern…and I don’t think…right now anyway…you would take kindly to that. Already, I’ve peeled away so many layers of you…let us…seal you off for a bit…give you room to breathe again. Recuperate. Decide a comfortable shallowness in the water for your feet to traverse.”

She abruptly clasped her hands together.

“The beach!” She smacked him lightly on the chest with the back of a hand. “You are such a distraction. At this rate we’ll be here all night.”

In the blink of an eye she’d ducked under his arm, leaving him feeling more off-kilter than he ever had in his life. And that _infuriating_ escape move. From now on he needed to keep his arms lower around her, so the opportunity didn’t continuously present itself.

Before she could exit the kitchen, Joker tugged her back by the shirt. She glanced up at him.

“We forgetting something?”

Her brows crinkled together. She glanced down at herself.

“I’m all here…as far as I know anyway.”

He twirled her around, so she was facing the plate of food he’d stacked together for her.

“Ah!”

She snatched a bag of gummy worms, brought them up to her eyes, and observed all the transitions of colors.

When one whole minute passed and all Celine had done was accumulate a bit of drool and a thousand-yard stare, Joker snatched the bag from her hands and ripped it open.

“These ah mushrooms,” he ventured, pulling one out, “always make you this mani-**_c_**?”

She nodded and accepted the worm dangling in front of her.

“Go with the flow, Jack.” She bit off one end and savored the taste, rolling her tongue around it. “No use fighting…I mean…when you’ve got a destination…and you gotta make the trip there…one must endure all the twists and turns, right? It’s what I’ve been doing since we first met…difference is…I’m doing it all with less…hesitation. The me on shroomies…is the me I strive to be in sober life.”

She sunk back into his chest, chewing thoughtfully.

“It’s odd…I don’t like to eat on trips…usually lose my appetite…but something about your bossiness…”

He couldn’t help but expel a harsh chuckle at that.

“Don’t think you’ll still carry that opinion when you sober **_up_**.”

“Probably not.” She peeked up at him with a toothy smile. “You know…each trip of mine…has a reoccurring theme…still trying to figure out…this one…other than…coordination _not_ being my friend.”

He rested his chin atop her head, constricting his biceps around her until she was forced against his chest as closely as possible.

“Poetry,” he answered lazily. “…you ah…got a predilection for it.”

She stiffened. He pulled back a little to study her.

“You’re right,” she realized. “I guess I never…Bruce isn’t the poetry type…neither is John…I’ve got artistic friends…but they channel it through…other mediums…”

Her brows drew together.

“You like poetry too.”

He made a sound of disagreement. She tried to twist around in his arms.

“You do,” she insisted. “Makes perfect sense. Poetry is so…subjective. Intense. Rhythmically dependent upon…the author. Rap…you love rap, Jack. Is rap not poetry?”

She was now facing him, swaying a little in place. He made sure to keep her body sanctioned in between his arms.

“Hmpf…I’ll concede ya that,” he admitted quietly, brows narrowing. “And now that ya mention it…there is a poem that stands out. Only one I ever bothered memorizing…”

He closed his eyes for a few seconds, mouth pursed. She wished she could snap a photo, but for the life of her couldn’t recall what she’d done with her phone.

“Langston…_Hughes_?” His eyes opened. “That sound right?”

“Yes!” she answered. “We learned a few of his…in high school…I think.”

“Mm… “Evil” is what he titled this one.”

Her brows rose.

“I’m not familiar…recite it...please.”

He did his best not to smirk.

One hand lifted and cupped her cheek. His voice lowered to a grumble for dramatic effect.

_“Looks what drives me crazy-”_

His opposite hand cupped her other cheek.

_“Don’t have no effect on you—”_

Her face was tilted up.

_“But I’m gonna keep on at it-”_

He brought their foreheads together, gaze smoldering.

_“Till it drives you crazy…too.” _

Although he half anticipated her response, he was still taken aback by the voracity of her laughter. His hands dropped down to her hips to steady her should she take another tumble; secretly pleased beyond comprehension that she found it as appropriate as he did.

“Of-of course!” she giggled, hands trying to smother her mouth. “Of course that would stick out to you. My…brilliant little deviant.”

Electricity roared through his veins. He shot forward and captured her lips, arms encircling her back in a criss-cross formation. Her tongue wasn’t able to keep up with the ferocity of his, so he did his best to slow down until his was stroking hers languidly; fingernails digging deep into her skin.

A muffled cry made him pull away.

Her bottom lip was flushed and wobbling; pain weaving into her expression despite her pupils being fascinated by his mouth.

It dawned on him without her having to say anything. He declawed his nails from her back, instead, taking to thumbing the areas now carrying half-moon outlines.

“You uh still in pain from earlier?”

Her nod wasn’t done up and down, but rather side to side. He suspected in the last minute alone the trip had accelerated unexpectedly.

“Take your painkillers?”

“O-one.”

“Never was much-a babysitter,” he mentioned off-handedly. “For some odd reason, people don’t trust me with their kiddos.”

“Can’t imagine why,” she mumbled into his chest.

He pinched her side, which made her re-erupt into a fit of giggles.

“Want me to throw you in the ocean? _Hm?_ Let sharks rip your body apart ‘til you’re nothing but marrow and bone?”

When she parted her mouth and nodded dreamily, he swept some hair out of her face.

“Let’s ah get to hoppin’ then and see if sharks like bunny every bit as much as _I_ do.”

x_X_x_X_x

Joker refused to let Celine leave the house until she got some more food in her, which she did with closed eyes and soft sighs; tastebuds rejoicing at all the sugar and salt seeping into her tongue. He then made her drink a full bottle of water as well as knock back two more painkillers, all the while changing out and redressing the film and bandages on her hand, so it was clean and properly snug. 

Whilst in the middle of this, he abruptly looked up at her.

“You’re ah…” He cleared his throat, squinting at her. “How’s your memory after waking up from one of these trips?

Her eyes were shut, body swaying gently to the tune of the waves merging onto the shore.

“I…remember what’s most…impactful.”

She seemed to be entering a mute stage of the trip, though her forehead often crinkled as if she were holding entire conversations inside her head.

Joker nodded.

“Nothing impactful ‘bout this,” he murmured, hoping his command was being subliminally received. “Best you block it out.”

She smiled but said nothing.

Thankfully, she was much more present when he ordered her to pack a bag of all that she would need. A task he realized very quickly he had to monitor as she was developing a persistent habit of getting side-tracked. Not that he minded all that much, it was free entertainment for him, especially when she randomly started to laugh, then snort, then cradle her tummy, then beam the brightest smile at seemingly nothing before looking directly at him, viewing him as if…as if…_well_…he’d never in his life been on the receiving end of that look before, but he’d spotted it plenty of times observing others. And usually…_usually_ that look gave him the worst kind of nausea…he suspected subconsciously it was one of the deciding factors in marking Dent’s girlfriend for death.

But now… finally being the recipient of that look…by _her_ of all people…and…the nausea was of a different sort entirely. It didn’t make him want to retch his guts out…it didn’t feel like acid corroding his organs…it felt like…he was freefalling with no bottom in sight…and the lack of a bottom unnerved him just as much as it _thrilled_ him.

When all was said and done, she had strapped to her an old bookbag filled with a quilt, matches, kerosene, a few more bottles of water, and one of her pre-rolled joints that she faintly debated taking a few hits from, but ultimately decided against. Once the peak hit and plateaued, she would consider it; but for now, everything was moving along at the perfect pace.

“Music!” she gasped, “we’ll need music.”

Since she didn’t have her phone, she settled for the next best thing.

In the closet of the spare bedroom she was able to fish out a black, old school boombox, though one of her family members must have relocated the box of cassette tapes, as they were nowhere to be found. With furrowed brows, she clicked the OPEN button atop the stereo.

It took a few seconds for the words to stop swimming.

“Oh…” she drawled, tilting her head, “I forgot…I…had…this.”

In black Sharpie on top of white masking tape it read: **Celine’s Mix 99’.**

“Lemme guess,” came Joker’s voice from above her shoulder, “packed with angst, grunge and…rockers mad at their fathers.”

She grinned and snapped the lid closed before picking the stereo up.

“I…can’t recall what’s on it…_right now_,” she answered thoughtfully, thumbing the handle as if in a daze. “But making it…I remember that…or…the feeling rather. A classmate of mine…at GIT…taught me. It was…I was not…in a good headspace then. But I was so…proud…learning how to get all the songs…on.”

She peered up at him and arched a brow.

“Rockers? Mad…at their fathers?”

He rested an arm against the closet entry, eying her with a crooked smile.

“No offense meant, sweets, I appreciate a bit of alternative rock as much as the next anarchist. Just that ah…you remember radio stations being saturated with that sorta music for a time, don’t ya? Grunge becoming mainstream, every misunderstood, flannel wearing teen-**_ager_** thinking they were the next Kurt Cobain. _Or_ wanting to shoot up a school. If the former didn’t happen, they’d act out on the latter.”

“Did you?”

“Wanna overdose on fame or shoot up a school?”

“Both?”

He scratched his chin, suddenly looking past her.

“Wouldn’t have minded recognition at that age,” he admitted. “And…I _heheh_ woulda went back for target practice at mine, but the punks at Columbine beat me to it with their…magnum _opus_. I’m _no one’s_ copycat.”

Her mouth dropped open.

“You’re…you’re serious?”

Witnessing her expression crumble had him rethinking his choice of words.

“Kidding,” he lied, ruffling her hair. 

She still appeared mildly disturbed, so he hooked an arm around her neck and tugged her out of the closet with him.

“C’mon gumdrop, ocean’s a-waiting.”

His redirection of topic seemed to do the trick. In no time they were outside, Joker snatching up the bundle of wood by the firepit while Celine did her best at taking straight baby steps toward the stairs at side of the cliff.

“Ah ah ah.” She was pulled backwards before she could get more than five feet. “Clutzy little girls ride in the back with daddy.”

Her brows shot together. She turned and looked at him.

“But…you’re not my daddy.”

_Yet _Joker itched to say.

He instead moved to stand in front of her, then dropped down on one knee, peering back over his shoulder at her expectantly.

“Well?” he said. “_Hop on_.”

Her squeal made him jump a little.

“**_Really_**?” she asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Unless you prefer handcuffs. Either’s _fine_ by me.”

When she wrapped both arms around his neck and worked on situating her legs around his ribcage, he tried to keep his smirking to a minimal. Yes, the precaution was taken mostly for her benefit…breaking your neck was such an anticlimactic way to die. But it was for his as well, even if he’d never verbally admit to it.

The image from almost a week ago now was still seared into his brain…Celine nearly fainting a day out of the hospital, that oaf Wayne coming to her _heroic_ rescue and letting her ride him piggyback style…for all the world to see! He’d nearly shot at him on sight.

Instead, he made a vow to himself. Celine Harlow _would_ be getting a piggyback ride from him even if he had to industrial glue the woman to his back to make it happen.

Thankfully, it’d not come to that. And although he wished that entitled brat Wayne was here, forced to watch as he had been…a victory was still a victory.

“Dig your heels in _harder_, Cece. I won’t bruise.”

Her breath tickled his ear.

“I…don’t want to hurt you.”

The genuineness in her tone set his nerves on fire.

“Not going to,” he promised. “And if you do, I’ll more than _likely_ enjoy it. That’s what I call a win-win.”

She chuckled heartily at that, burying her nose into the side of his neck.

“Win-win,” she repeated in a daze, shifting her ankles forward a little and digging her heels in.

“That-a girl,” he encouraged, making sure she was properly secured before standing. “Gotta say, you follow directions much better in this state.”

She lifted the hand not clutching the boombox handle and covered his mouth.

“Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

Joker licked her hand, but rather than be repulsed like she was the evening before, all Celine did was giggle, close her eyes, and rest the side of her cheek against the nape of his neck.

The sun was about halfway to the horizon by the time he descended the stairs. The breeze was faint – ideal fire building weather – and the waves didn’t crash against the shore as much as they gently undulated back and forth, the rhythm quickly becoming hypnotic to the woman attached to Joker’s back.

A few gulls were circling the clear-blue skies, but other than that there wasn’t another soul above water.

Joker was sorely tempted to drop Celine without preamble, but figured she’d taken enough spills for the day. There was always tomorrow.

She ended up sliding off of him on her accord anyhow, moaning when her toes sunk into the sand. Her eyes studied her scenery as if she were a child viewing it all for the first time.

“Wish you could see…” she rambled softly, inhaling deeply. “Everything is just…it all is…I am the wind, the seagulls…the salt, the water…the seaweed, the algae…it’s all-.”

Her fingers came together.

“-interconnected.”

“Power of drugs,” was his low response.

She frowned a little.

“I am you as well,” she said quietly. “But you’re…this frantic buzzing…like a wasp’s nest. I don’t know to…calm it.”

His gaze was _heavy_ when it fell on her. She shuddered a little, trying to shake it off.

“You’re high as a fucking satellite. Don’t mind you rattling off what’s in your head but keep that mystic cr-**_ap_** to yourself.”

It hurt a little to hear, but she mentally reassured herself that in due time, his perception would expand too.

She chose to spend the next little bit unpacking her bag and setting up a nice area for them to bunker down in. What there was of the wind helped drape the quilt over the sand a few feet away from the brick-lined firepit. She offered the kerosene and matches to Joker, who accepted them gleefully, eyes lighting up because he finally, _finally_ got to start something on fire.

As he got to work doing what he did best, she set the stereo down about ten feet away from them and plopped down in front of it. Her fingers traced all of the buttons, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. She hit what she thought read _rewind_ until she heard a clicking sound, then _play_.

Nothing came out. Her brows shot together. She hit _pause_. _Rewind_. Then _play_ again. Still nothing.

Minutes passed and she found herself scratching her head, wondering if perhaps it needed new batteries.

Joker’s shadow appeared unexpectedly. He knelt into a crouch behind her, brushed a few strands of hair from her ear, and whispered, “Might-a help if you turned up the volume.”

She blushed a little before doing as he recommended. Immediately, the first song on the tape quietly blared from the speakers.

_“All I can say is that my life is pretty plain_ _  
I like watchin' the puddles gather rain  
And all I can do is just pour some tea for two  
And speak my point of view but it's not sane  
It's not sane”_

Her hands shot into the air, a giggle stumbling out of her. Joker smirked at the display, though he was less prepared for her arms to suddenly hook around his neck haphazardly.

“Thank you!” she shouted.

_“I just want someone to say to me, oh  
I'll always be there when you wake, yeah  
You know I'd like to keep my cheeks dry today  
So stay with me and I'll have it made” _

“I’ll have it maaaaade,” Celine sang back, swaying her shoulders, crooning the lyrics she knew by heart. “_And I don't understand why I sleep allllllll day, and I start to complain that there's no rain, and all I can do is read a book to stay awake, and it rips my life away but it's a great escape. Escaaaape. Escaaaaaaaape. Escaaaaaaaaaaaaape_.”

She let the song carry on without any further input, feeling much more content to hum along. At some point, Joker dropped down behind her to sit and slid his way forward, so he had her reclined against him between his legs.

He didn’t shake off her grip, mostly because her hands without her realizing it were now in his soft, sun-kissed hair; casually tracing patterns along his skull. His arms found their usual position around her waist, and his nose decided to scope out the length of her neck with a few back and forth grazes.

“You remember this one?” she asked quietly.

“Mhm.”

His eyes were closed, the faint whiff of sunscreen, soil, blood, and woods invading his nostrils.

“I don’t know…if you had MTV growing up…but I always loved this…video. Always rooted for the girl.”

He didn’t answer, merely rearranged his face so now – as she had requested while under the guise of her alter ego Connie Cu’ssion – the ridges of his scars brushed all along her neck. Her breathing hitched and a whimper that had developed in her toes, shot up her body and escaped out from between her teeth.

The last of the song eventually tapered out, then, the next one began.

_“Shiny happy people laughing_

_Meet me in the crowd, people, people  
Throw your love around, love me, love me  
Take it into town, happy, happy  
Put it in the ground where the flowers grow  
Gold and silver shine”_

Giddiness possessed her body. In a last attempt at sanity, she gripped onto Joker’s locks.

“E_verything_ is a blaze of _color_ around me. I-I’m hitting…I’m diving…I’m surrendering…_I_-.”

“Shh, I gotcha,” he soothed. “Not going anywhere, so ah…feel _free_ to lose your god damn mind.”

And she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First song on Celine's Mix Tape is No Rain by Blind Melon. Second is Shiny Happy People by REM. No Rain in particular always, always makes me think of Heath. In my head, he's driving an open road in the late 90s, listening to it. Sometimes, I'm there too.


	32. Chapter 32

Over the course of the next few hours Celine shifted through a variety of emotions, actions, and words. Though the fluctuations would make her appear insane to most, Joker was not one of those people. He was absolutely and thoroughly mesmerized, amused, and intrigued.

At the peak of the trip half-coherent mumbles scattered out of her. She had freed herself from his grasp only to sit on her knees in between his legs, fingers digging over and over into the sand, gaze trained on something that didn’t appear to be there.

“The oranges, the oranges,” she babbled, shaking her head, eyes alit. “They’re all decomposing. I need to…bite…into them…before they’re…_gone_.”

Joker watched on as she lifted her hands above her and studied them with fully blown pupils.

A little while later she was studying the sky above her with a parted mouth, and then the ocean, and then the cliffs, and the trees above them.

Giggles rocked out of her throat.

“Colors…they move.” Her hands closed around her mouth. She appeared on the verge of crying, though they weren’t tears of sadness, but of awe, of _revery_. “They move in patterns…of vibrations.”

Her gaze fell to him and her grin stretched to epic proportions.

Then, her thoughts traveled elsewhere. He could see it from the sudden pinching of her brows and nose.

“Her name…what’s her name…lady of the woods. Gal…lady of the woods.”

“Lady of the woods?” he asked, leaning back, weight resting on his hands.

“Surely…you’ve seen? She resisted the Ring of power from…Fro-Fro-_doh_.”

He had only a slight idea of what she was talking about based on her sentence. Personally, he’d never taken the time to watch the Lord of the Rings films…too long, too much talking, overbearing with fantastical elements he found eye-roll worthy. Gore, dark humor, and slashers were more up his alley…which, coincidentally, is exactly what you’d find were you trapped in an alleyway with him.

But Celine seemed adamant on trying to recall the name of someone from the program.

“Played by…the actress…Cathaleet _Blanket_?”

She looked at him as if to confirm.

He shrugged with one shoulder, not having a clue. Though, the likelihood of an actress out there named Cathaleet Blanket was decidedly slim.

At one point she stood and wandered over to the fire he had started. He kept close to her, watching her sway and extend her arms. For nearly a half hour she stood in the same position. When he realized she most likely wouldn’t be budging any time soon, he opted to sprawl out on the quilt and watch her from his side; elbow buried in the sand to support his head atop his palm. Her mixtape continued in the background, but he hardly payed it any attention, lost in his own thoughts, most having to do with her, and keeping one leg near her just in case she decided to nosedive into the fire.

She startled him slightly when she looked at him, wearing a troubled frown.

“What’s _up_?”

He’d not realized until that moment that he’d adopted her saying.

She pointed at the fire, then at herself. Her hand lifted. She studied it closely.

“Use your words, sweetheart,” he encouraged. “What’s ah happening inside that pretty little noggin’ of yours?”

“Simulation,” she stated. “You’ve heard of it, yes?”

He observed her carefully.

“Theory that we’re all living in one?” he confirmed. “Read up on it a time or two. It’s got some weight. But ah…I think it’s a lot less mmm…_intricate_ than that.”

“If it’s true,” she managed out, rubbing her hands together, then studying them again. “Then…it’s all…empty. Meaningless. Pre…pre-programmed.”

“Life’s meaningless as it is.”

She shook her head vigorously at this.

“Only meaningless,” she told him, “if you choose it to be.”

His lips quirked up.

“We’ll ah agree to disagree on that one.”

She abruptly sat cross legged, looking all around her.

“If it is all…a simulation.” She patted the sand beneath her firmly. “Then…I don’t _care_. Because…programmers…allow beautiful things. Water and trees and art and music. We have…access…to beautiful things. Beautiful…experiences. Might as well…might as well enjoy them before the servers are cleared.”

He opened his mouth, debating how to answer.

“Might as well,” he settled on.

She nodded happily at that, drawing her legs up and wrapping both arms around them.

Joker’s attention flickered between the woman sitting beside the fire - entranced with trickling grains of sand onto her feet - and the calm waves of the ocean behind her. Initially, the salt in the air had given him a bit of a headache, but only because he wasn’t accustomed to being suffocated by it.

Now, it was almost a heady after-scent.

Restlessness eventually knocked at his door. He answered by removing from his pocket one of two knife roll bags he had on his person. This one carried nine of the smaller blades he often played “darts” with (who the bullseye was alternated depending on the day).

Celine wasn’t the target, but rather the beacon. And he flicked each blade at everyone and anyone who would dare try and douse her. By the time all was said and done, a semi-circle of nine knives surrounded her oblivious form.

Only minutes later he felt a vibration in his pants pocket. He glanced once at Celine, but she was lost in her own world. Which was lucky for him as it was her phone that was ringing.

When he saw who the caller was, he nearly tossed it into the fire.

_Lumberjack Tony Calling…_

A tic rippled through his jaw. He declined the call and turned her phone off. The last thing she needed was…_unsavory_ distractions.

A little while later he noticed she was tracing the faint scars on top of her thighs, lips caught between a smile and a frown. He chose not to say anything, figuring she would speak first.

“When I was young,” she said, voice somehow near and far away at the same time, “I used to _melt_ into people…until there was nothing left.”

She didn’t follow this up with anything, and he suspected it was more rhetorical than anything.

About fifteen minutes later she looked up at him.

“It is necessary to kill yourself sometimes.”

He couldn’t tell if she meant that as a statement or question.

“Yes,” he answered.

She nodded.

“Let old versions of you die, Jack.”

He stiffened. And even when her gaze returned to her thighs, he still didn’t untense…not until the sun began romancing the horizon.

The gradual darkening of scenery and pops of oranges, purples, reds, and indigos seemed to ignite something frenzied in her.

Now, she was on her feet, pacing around the fire, skipping along the shoreline, spinning around with arms extended, bowing and rising and turning and sliding and swaying; incapable of remaining still. Her movements were graceful, purposeful…like she was being led by an invisible string, listening to an omniscient conductor.

Out of nowhere she began to laugh, and she didn’t stop for a long while.

Joker found himself thinking how it was the antithesis to the fits that overcame him. In private, if the headspace was right, he could carry on close to an hour. None of his men bothered him during these times, knowing better, or more _likely_, disturbed out of their wits.

When Celine laughed, it was like a warm melody that soared into your chest and spread throughout your entire body, banishing all coldness within. Her lack of reservation…her lack of grounding in this world…her lack of shits to give…was…_infectious_.

He joined in on her laughter because it called his out, begging for a companion to verbalize the depth of their individual insanities.

By the time it was over, both of their cheeks were stained with tears and their abs ached from the slightest movement. Though the temperature had dropped a little, their bodies were flush with fever. The sun was nearly ready to depart from their neck of the world; a great, fiery presence guarding them both.

When Celine could finally stand straight without it hurting, she glanced at Joker, then took off in a sprint toward his seated form. He watched her nearing him, spreading his legs a little, biting down on his lip, arms extending, fingers beckoning her closer for whatever it is she had in store.

She tackled him, and his arms and legs immediately wrapped her up. They fell backwards and together, began to roll away from the fire toward the cliffs. Neither knew who had started laughing again, only that soon they were clutching each other for dear life as they worked through the madness possessing them.

Eventually, they paused for air, chests heaving up and down.

Twilight was so very near. They studied each other’s faces in the lowlight of the sky and the wavering flames of the fire.

She leaned forward first, and he met her halfway. Their lips locked together, tongues following suit, clashing in unison, stroking and teasing and _tasting_. A grunt ripped through Joker’s throat. His knees pried Celine’s wide apart. His hips dove forward, cock nearly tearing through the seam of his boxers and pants just to get a whiff of the warm heat that awaited him.

Her hands wove into his hair, yanking him by the roots any time he dared deepen the kiss. His vengeance was to lean back and nip sharply over and over at her bottom lip, tugging it closer and closer to him each time, eyes flashing in a warning. A warning she challenged the longer eye contact persisted.

It was when her hands disappeared from his hair and reappeared at the buttons of his vest that Joker found some clarity. A growl reverberated in his chest as he snatched her hands and pinned them down on either side of her.

“Make _no_ mistake,” he relayed with an eerie calmness. “You _will_ be getting the fucking your _long_ overdue for.”

Her eyes flashed and her core throbbed needily.

“Bu-**_t_**.” He anchored her to the sand with his forehead, not blinking once. “When you’re…sober. We understand?”

She kept glancing between his eyes and mouth.

“I _said_-.” He ground his rock-hard cock against her straining groin. “-we _understand_?”

“Y-yes,” she panted, blinking a few times. “I understand.”

He slowly lapped at his scars before lifting himself off of her and falling backwards to sit. For once, he was the one between the two that needed a moment to compose themselves.

Celine’s eyes were wide. She swallowed a few times, and then worked on standing.

Joker watched every one of her movements closely, breaths slowly returning to a semi-normal rhythm.

She walked over to the cliff and stood there for a few moments. Her hands reached out and rested against the sediment, feeling it out.

The sun had finally disappeared, only for a near full moon to take its place in the night sky. The wind whistled pleasantly against their heated skin. The longer their eyes adjusted, the more stars were revealed to them. The mix tape was over with, leaving the crackling of fire and soft drifting of waves over shore as the only two audible sounds.

Without warning, Celine knelt. She started to pat the cliff in various spots, palms sinking in, hoping to collect some of the eroded color.

Joker was caught between wanting to approach and keeping his distance.

Something shifted in the air. All the hairs on the back of his neck perked up. Dormant fight or flight instincts kicked into high gear within him.

When she finally turned, he almost didn’t recognize her. It was Celine physically, but a stranger stared back at him. Further proven by the fact that when she moved, it was done with a combination of arms and legs. As if she were a primordial creature, stealthily sizing him up.

She crept along the cliff on her palms and knees, staring at him unblinkingly. A hint of a sneer made her upper lip peel back. Joker couldn’t look away even if he wanted to.

“You don’t deserve her.”

He straightened up into a sitting position. Though his breathing was steady, his heart thumped loudly. And he suspected she could hear it as her eyes flickered to his chest, and then back up to his face.

“Not yet, anyway,” she continued, tilting her head until it was nearly resting on her shoulder. “There is still time…for you to reach your potential.”

He swallowed tightly, battling down the urge to fish out one of his knives.

“Can’t ah say we’ve been introduced.” He licked his lips and offered her an indulgent smirk. “Whom do I owe the _pleasure_?”

She rapidly crawled forward, severing the distance between them by half. Joker gave in to instinct and whipped out his sharpest knife. He pointed it at her, gaze narrowing.

Her head cocked the opposite direction. One hand slithered over her face and through her hair, leaving behind a faint smudge of earthy brown and reddish orange.

“She exists because I hunted. She is resilient because I fought. She is protected because I guide. I am immortalized in the lines of her palms.”

She lifted her right hand and flattened it out, palm facing him.

An uncomfortable sort of laugh got trapped in his throat.

“You’ve lost it, haven’t ya?”

They both noticed the moment his knife hand involuntarily shook. She met his eyes.

“I speak now, animal to animal. You kill without purpose, without respect, without mercy. The most selfish of instincts drive you. You do _not_ deserve her.”

She moved swiftly to sit on her feet, one hand curled into the sand between her legs.

“And yet…these traits bleed into you in increments. The slaughtering of the one crueler than you marked a metamorphosis.”

“No one’s-”

She lifted her bandaged right hand and one by one, lowered all of her fingers until she reached the one already gone.

He held back his nod at the last minute.

“So much pleasure you took,” she said. “In the disassembling of that animal. More than any you’ve thus far slaughtered. And yet…_still_ too quick. You think this when you gaze upon her bruises. You think this when you gaze upon her hand.”

His flinch lasted milliseconds, but she glimpsed it nevertheless.

“That instinct roaring to protect is no fluke. It is in your best interest to learn to adhere. For both of your sakes.”

He finally found his voice.

“And if I **_don’t_**?”

Her hand scooped some sand and lifted it to show him. The wind lashed out, stealing it all from her palm.

“Gone will be that which was meant to be yours. Alone you will remain, for this life and any you should have the misfortune to live again.”

He was doing his best to mimic her emotionless face.

“Pretty sure it’s a one and done sorta deal. Anyone ever tell ya conviction isn’t your strong suit?”

One corner of her lips curled upward. She lifted her chin to the side, eyes running up and down his form.

“Denial…reluctance…fear…oh, how you _strain_…trying _so_ hard to resist your own fate.”

Before he could say anything else, she blinked, and Celine was back. She shot him a million-Watt smile, mirth and warmth reclaiming her expression.

That is until she saw the knife pointed at her. Immediately, she retreated until her back struck the cliff.

Joker stared at her wide-eyed, feeling like he’d just experienced the world’s worst case of whiplash.

Neither said a word for close to a minute. Though she was trying to be discrete about it, he could see her trying to dig herself further into the rocks. His eyes dropped to her bandaged hand.

“You’re a trip,” he announced. “You know that?”

The knife slipped from his fingers. He ignored it and pushed up to his feet.

“G-good trip?” she tried, risking a few steps toward him. “Bad?”

“Not boring,” he answered. “Not a fucking boring bone in your body.”

She hesitantly patted herself.

“Yay?”

Her uncertain little smile nearly had him forgetting the conversation that’d occurred moments earlier. _Nearly_.

He cupped her cheeks, monitoring every macro and micro expression.

“You ah…disappeared on me there for a little bit. Where’d ya _go_?”

Her eyes brightened. She covered his hands with hers.

“I-…you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

He did his best not to bare his teeth.

“_Try me_.”

“Well…I…was here.” She stomped her foot once for good measure. “But…my house…wasn’t. Everything was…forest. Everything smelled…clean. Pure. The stars!”

She peered up, fingers tightening on his.

“I’d never…seen so many before. I could see…parts of the Milky Way.”

When she continued staring, Joker pressed down on her chin with a thumb.

“Sorry.” She reddened a little. “There were people…with markings on them…dancing…around that fire over there. Dressed…well…_undressed_, for the most part. They…invited me to dance…so I did.”

He was searching her face intently, deliberating how to proceed.

She sensed a conflict of emotions swirling within him.

“I’m sorry if it looked like physically…I spaced out. I think…most of it…was…in my head. I can never predict trips…only go along.”

He gazed at her for another minute, neither of them saying a word.

“Did I…” Her brows crunched together. “Do something…_wrong_?”

It was her soft voice that did it. Joker removed his hands and took a step back, releasing a half-strangled sigh.

“When you ah…disappeared,” he told her. “Someone took your place.”

Her eyes widened.

“Little feistier than you…we ah…had a _chat_.”

Wetness gathered in her eyes. Both hands came together over her chest.

“A-are you okay? D-did I…did I hurt you?”

Before he could answer, a few tears trailed down her cheeks. He tugged her into his arms faster than he wished to give thought to.

“Oh, _hush_,” he half eased, half chided. “Life’s gonna give ya a lot of reasons to cry. This ain’t one ‘em. Like I said, we had a _friendly_-,” he forced out, “-chat. But now, you’re back. And between the two of ya, I much prefer you.”

She continued to cry, shoulders shaking. The front of his dress shirt was soon damp with tears.

“J-just let me-,” she gasped out. “I need to-.”

He didn’t answer, tightening his hold on her. He thought he understood. The intensity of her drug-induced state amplified her emotions. Even if she wanted to stop crying, he didn’t think she could. Thus, she needed to work through the arenas of worry and anxiety, so they could be fully out of her system.

Earlier in the day she’d told him that she didn’t lie in this state. For as skeptical as he’d been, he was hard pressed not to believe her. Humans had a natural inclination to lie…to take the easy way out…to desecrate the truth while maintaining the illusion of desiring it.

Celine…prided herself on being honest, even if it wasn’t necessarily easy. In this state, she couldn’t lie, for that would further harm the relationship she had with herself…a relationship that was sacred, impenetrable, not able to be influenced by outside or opposing forces. A relationship she not only worked years at cultivating, but continued to work on, whereas so many others were content with stagnancy.

He peered down at the shivering bunny in his arms and smiled at her in a way that felt both a betrayal to himself, and an unspeakable relief. It passed his thoughts to snap her neck while she least expected it. But that’s all it did. Pass through. And he…_why_, he had all the audacity in the world to stick out his tongue and give it the finger.

She sniffled a few times before gazing up at him, dark blue eyes now a pink-tinted, cerulean.

“S-sorry I-.”

“If you apologize one more time,” he said quietly. “I’m gonna use your intestines as fishing lure.”

She went through a rapid fire of emotion- disgust, confusion, intrigue, and finally (strangely enough) flattery.

“Man,” she marveled. “I-I can’t tell if I’m…more useful to you alive or…dead.”

“Mm…let’s hope you don’t gotta find out anytime soon.” He ran a hand through her hair, wanting to see her face unobstructed. “Now ah…judging by your more _coherent_ speech pattern, suffice to say the peak’s been reached?”

“It has,” she agreed. “I mean…I feel like I’m…in a cartoon. I wish I could show you…what I’m seeing around me. It’s _haha_…it’s…most excellent.”

He nodded.

“Good, good. So _uh_…I think you’ve kept me waiting long enough.”

“Waiti-?”

The moment his Cheshire smile appeared, she tried to scramble backwards.

“Ah ah ah, promise is a _promise_,” he reminded, pulling her inward. “I. Wanna. Hear. Your. **_Rap_**.”

“O-okay…you’re right. Just let me…smoke a little. With some…_luck_…I won’t remember this tomorrow.”

Her nervous laughter soon transitioned into a body-quaking chortle.

“It’s so stupid, Jack.”

“Mm…_I’ll_ be the judge of that.”

Fifteen minutes later and Celine had successfully smoked through half her joint. The tingles experienced earlier in the trip, re-ignited all over again. She felt like she was being prodded by a bunch of phantom hands and the urge to sink into the sand and let them claim her was nearly overwhelming

But she kept her focus on Joker, who lounged casually on the quilt by the fire, watching her expectantly.

She slowly removed the trip journal she’d kept safeguarded from him all day, bottom lip quivering. Her fingers took their time finding the page. A few steps closer to the fire were needed so she could comfortably read her own handwriting, though the moon was a pal and aided her too.

Upon finding the rap, her eyes scanned each line, smile growing into a grin before morphing into a few stray giggles.

“Not nice to keep your audience waiting, Cece.”

She lifted the journal and hid the lower part of her face so only her eyes were visible to him.

“Just um…two things to remember. One…I was high out of my mind.”

“No,” he gasped. “I’m _shocked_.”

She bit her lip.

“And…two…it wasn’t Celine who wrote this. I…I mean it was…but I…wrote it through the perspective of…an older, jaded black man. Not a…middle aged white woman.”

His brows shot up.

“You’re white?” He looked her up and down. “Thought you were purple.”

She smothered the journal against her mouth, working through a few chuckles, before pulling back and locating the first line.

Clearing her throat, she extended her right hand in the event she began to gesture. Which she suspected was very possible.

“Okay…um…here goes-

I-I’ll beat a muthafucka no doubt,  
Eat that pussy like sauerkraut  
Queens got the number on speed dial  
Cobwebs exist north of the Nile.”

Her gaze briefly strayed up to him, but Joker was dead silent, and perhaps a little taken aback by the intro. She continued.

“all a hater ever was  
heavy titties in them bras  
lost my focus ‘scuse this part  
imma cum on this girl’s heart

Mama saw me as a thug  
all I needed was a hug  
Beat my ass until I bled  
I forget it with some head”

Her right hand was in full gesture mode, body rocking to the beat developing in her head.

“brothers hide when they see me stroll  
hoes orbit around like a stripper pole  
life gets good when I close my eyes  
taste of heaven ‘tween them thighs

fear of failure keep me square  
puffin’ ‘til I’m short on air  
deuces mama catch this verse  
bangin’ strippers in ya hearse

mile a minute run this brain  
liquid honey keep me sane  
heart’s a beatin’ check one two  
how I vibe depend on you”

She made a fist, beat it twice against her chest, then shot him a sideways peace sign.

For a few seconds, she worried she’d broken Joker. Accidentally struck some manufacturer’s reset button and he was awaiting commands to power on again. Yet again, she wondered where her phone was. No one would ever believe that she’d driven him into this state, least of all herself.

She wasn’t prepared for his sudden howls of laughter nor his body dropping backwards and rolling back and forth, arms curled around his belly.

“Oooh hahahahaha _hehehe_ ahahahahahahaha ohoo ahahahahahahaha-_ha_.”

He choked on his own spit for a solid ten seconds, leaving her to wonder if she’d have to attempt some form of CPR on him.

“That-a…” He coughed a few times, pulling himself back up into a sitting position, wiping at his eyes. “That…oh sweets…that…_ahahaha_…”

He launched back into a slew of chest-heaving giggles that made him sound like he was crying more than laughing.

She wasn’t in a headspace to feel embarrassed. Personally, she thought she’d done pretty well managing it all out. But she was curious to hear his thoughts…provided he didn’t fall into a coma first.

He wove in and out of a fit for the next few minutes. In the midst of it, he seemed to realize oxygen wouldn’t allow him to voice more than one or two words. So, he offered her a very sloppy round of applause, to which she bowed gracefully at.

Eventually, he was able to gather his breath, and his face was truly something to behold. Wet eyes, flushed face, permanent open-mouthed grin, and…joy. Not joy _inspired_ by malice or destruction or a personal agenda. Just…joy.

“You’re ah…gonna have to gimme a minute,” he told her. “I think I’m gonna-.”

Not a second later and he keeled over and puked into the sand.

She bit her lip, longing to approach, but respecting his boundaries. She could tell he’d been bombarded by a batch of new experiences today…it wouldn’t do to control how he navigated them.

He spat a few more times into the sand, getting the last of yesterday’s meal out.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

He abruptly scampered up to his feet and started taking off his shoes. Then his socks. Followed by his tie and vest.

“Um…”

That’s all she could answer with, thoroughly mesmerized by his erratic movements.

When he was finally down to his boxers, he looked her dead in the eyes.

“C’mon sweets, we’re ah going _swimming_.”

She took a step back, frowning a little.

“I…want to.” Her gaze strayed to the beautiful shades of endless blue behind him, glittering beneath the silver moon. “But I-.”

He waved her protests away.

“I’ll make sure you don’t drift off.”

“But my hand-.”

“Celine.”

She straightened. It was the first time he’d said her name without an undertone of mockery to it.

“’M not gonna let anything happen to you out there, got it?”

Butterflies tickled her insides. His conviction made her want to weep.

“O-okay.”

She slipped off her Hawaiian shirt, followed shortly by her tank top. Though hunger was present in Joker’s gaze, he made no lewd comments, nor really said much of anything as she worked on sliding out of her shorts.

When she was down to her bra and underwear, he extended a hand and approached her. An alabaster glow illuminated his skin, leaving him to resemble the moon in human form.

She inhaled deeply before taking his hand.

The second her feet touched the water, a shiver coursed through her. It was chill, but manageable. Waves lapped at her ankles, making her giggle a little at their effort to reassure her.

He led her further out, grip tightening on her hand. She focused on nothing else but his touch. Reaffirming. Assured. Confident.

The ground beneath them was mostly a mix of sand, seashells, numerous pebbles, and sandstone. A few brushes of seaweed had her veering closer to Joker’s side.

In no time she was waist-deep, working on her breathing. The ocean in her corner of the world was never ideal swimming temperature, even during the hottest months of the year. It was a running joke among fellow Mainers that they were exceptionally cold-blooded when compared to the rest of the country. They needed to be if they were to take advantage of all the water-based activities.

Although she’d been absent a year, Celine could feel that natural adjustability kicking in. The most important part was to breathe. Eventually, internal body temperature would find a balance with external setting.

Unsurprisingly, the water reached her chest quicker than it did Joker. She paused in place, not all that keen to venture any further out.

“T-this is good…for me,” she said, trying to detach her hand. “I’ll just…watch-.”

Before she could finish that line of thinking, Joker was in front of her. He lifted the hand he was clutching – her right – and draped it over his shoulder.

“Slide your arm around my neck,” he instructed, voice gravelly. “I’ll do the rest.”

“Y-you won’t let me go?”

He smirked a little.

“Couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

She nodded and did as he said, bringing her body toward his and slinging her arm around him until the back of his neck was tucked into the crook of her elbow. He didn’t need to guide her any further; it was as if her limbs knew what to do on their own.

Her left hand gripped onto his shoulder while each leg took its time wrapping around his waist. When she was properly secured, Joker slipped a muscled arm around her back and pulled her into him until they were pressed torso to torso.

“Hang on…unless you wanna end up a Canadian citizen.”

She snorted at that, holding him tighter to her. His throat was inches away from her lips and she had to battle down the persistent temptation to pepper it with kisses.

Joker wandered out only a little further before he deemed their positioning adequate. The arm not clutching Celine to him, slid under her bottom. He gave into instinct and offered it a quick squeeze before pushing. She got the hint and used the water and her grip on his neck to claw a few inches up so her thighs were now more comfortably clamped around his upper stomach, heels digging into his back.

For a few seconds, neither of them moved. The water was as calm as a summer night in Maine allowed it to be. The moon basked them in an afterglow. Stars twinkled by the thousands. And Celine was…content.

Joker started to move them. First, in circles. Though he was careful, dizziness still found an opportunity to claim her. But it was pleasant. Her environment seemed to slow down long enough for her to inspect it closer. The fire roaring on the shore looked to extend at least twenty feet high. There was no horizon, but rather a uniform marriage of ocean and sky. Eyes up above blinked yellow, then pink, then turquoise. The wind carried with it a tint of neon green, worming and weaving like playful dragons.

Her eyes swiveled to her bandaged hand, hovering just a little over Joker’s head. She couldn’t prevent her mouth from stretching wide, fingers swaying back and forth. At some point she started to hum, head tilting from one side to another. Endless giggles got trapped in her chest, and their eventual implosion made her body vibrate.

The sound of a low voice got her attention. She glanced down.

“What…did you say?”

He shook his head, spewing out water from his mouth.

“Nothing.”

She smiled and pressed her forehead against his. Her bandaged hand cupped the back of his skull.

“Tell me,” she said. “Or I’ll…_I’ll_…_kiss_ it out of you.”

“Oh _no_,” he rumbled. “Anything but that, I _beg_ of you.”

Biting her lip, she brought her free hand to his cheek.

“Don’t you know what happens,” she murmured, running her nose along his, “to clowns that…tease?”

“Mm…_enlighten_ me.”

Her parted mouth brushed his, tongue darting out. She never got around to answering.

The kiss was more delicate than either party believed themselves capable of exchanging. And it shot straight to their very centers, forcing their bodies so close that their heart rates were briefly in sync.

Celine gently traced Joker’s scarred cheek with her thumb as her tongue stroked the underside of his and then the sides. She mewled when he returned the favor, fingers tightening in his hair. Joker meanwhile used the nails of his free hand to trail up her spine, eliciting a few shiver-inducing whimpers. This allowed him to push his mouth forth and take control of the kiss.

She could feel her face growing hot as his tongue swirled seamlessly around hers, then relented, then swirled again. A faint pressure dug into her inner thigh, twitching anytime her pelvis rocked forth to investigate. Each of their throats were sheltering a refugee of moans, and it was Celine who released hers first, pulling away to gather oxygen.

This did little to deter Joker, whose tongue laved the entire span of her jawbone before his teeth nabbed her earlobe and tugged.

“Fuh-uh-_yuck_,” she moaned, panting quietly. “_Please_.”

His teeth nabbed it again, this time, mouth suctioning in the sensitive piece of flesh before releasing it with a quiet _pop! _Her toes curled each time the puffy ridges of his scar brushed across her cheek, followed by his sandpapery stubble.

The quickly cooling saliva on her ear shot sensation after sensation into her tummy. She used the support around his neck to bring her pelvis forward and slowly grind her soaked center up the length of his cock.

This set free Joker’s own moan, which barely sounded human to her ears.

“That…that-a…”

His struggle to find a coherent sentence made her entire body flush.

“I know,” she whispered, kissing his shoulder, and resting her chin on it.

For the next little while Joker swam them around the perimeter. He would stand stock still, waiting for a wave to pass him, then push off in the direction of the shore, using it as a vehicle. She giggled each time he did this, tightening her hold on him. Something he picked up on because his takeoffs would become a little more daring, his push-offs a little more aggressive. Unabashedly, it was an excuse to keep her clinging to him for dear life. She neither had the heart nor desire to protest.

A few times, she herself felt adventurous. Both hands would grip Joker’s shoulders as her head slowly lowered backwards. She managed to soak most of the back of her head, and that was more than enough for her considering she’d never believed her current scenario a possibility.

The water by now was warm, though she was half-convinced the raging heat in each of their bodies was responsible. Her uninjured hand would sometimes sink below and weave random little patterns that matched the fluidity of her thoughts.

At a certain point, Joker became stationary. His toes dug into the sand and he ceased all movement, taking to observing Celine’s expressions. Her gaze was trained on the heavens, and she was blinking as if all of life’s deepest secrets were being revealed to her.

He was tempted to steal her attention, but she seemed so lost in thought, and her pinched brows and jutting bottom lip were – _you didn’t hear it from him_ – kind of adorable.

“Do you dream?”

She looked down at him.

He arched a brow.

“Not anymore. Sleep schedules pretty ah _fucked_. It’s rare I make it to the REM stage.”

She frowned, thumb stroking the nape of his neck.

“I love dreaming,” she said. “I even love the nightmares. The subconscious mind…is so bizarre…so creative…and yet…not all that…understood. Do you…what do you think they mean?”

He shrugged.

“Haven’t ah given it much thought since I was…younger,” he admitted, adding no inflections or pitches into his tone…speaking to her as…Jack. “Read a bit of Freud…talk about a man projecting his own psyche. Who analyzes psychologists anyway? That’s the million-dollar question. Now Jung…I have an easier time getting on board with his concepts. The subconscious mind to me is…a vacuum. And this vacuum is always absorbing our surroundings, even if we’re not _pertinent_ to it. Our waking noggins are capable of remembering and dissecting only so much information…dreams serve as a…messenger. Between the conscious, identifiable self and the subconscious, abstract vacuum.”

She tilted her head, considering his response.

“Do you think…the conscious self visits the vacuum for dreams…or do you think…the vacuum is sentient…and sends them out?”

“Mm…inclined to believe the former. It’s like space.” He looked up, eyes hopping from star to star. “Vast, empty, absorbent.”

She followed his gaze.

“Take it you disagree?”

Her brows furrowed.

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re a dreamer, kid. What ah was it you said in that church?”

She looked down at him.

“Love,” he recalled with a squint, “love’s the international language of a potentially conscious universe, right?

“You remembered that?”

He smirked a little, brown eyes twinkling.

“Not every day you hear someone broadcast their crazy instead of doing the _smart_ thing and keeping it to themselves.”

“Won you over,” she mumbled lightly.

His laugh was loud and just the slightest bit deranged. He graced her with a sloppy smooch on the cheek.

“Sure did!”

She grinned, biting her lip.

“What’s ah your takeaway then?” he asked, peering at her. “Brought up the topic for a reason.”

“I- dreams have always…meant something to me. Be it…a message from…the subconscious. Or…a realm for…others to visit. But…more recently…well, right now…I can’t help but wonder…”

Her forehead scrunched up. She shook her head.

“Nevermind.”

“Now, now, none of that,” he reprimanded, gaze narrowing. “Just ‘cos I think you’re crazy doesn’t mean I don’t like it. Lay it on me, sweets. What’s your prognosis?”

“It’s just a theory.” She licked her lips and tried to gather her thoughts into a linear manner. “I’ve no…evidence. But…what if…during sleep your soul left your body and…_traveled_ into a…parallel universe. And it…found the _you_ there and entered your body while you slept. I mean…if parallel universes exist on the premise of being an outcome of made or unmade choices…then should your soul stumble into one where a relatively …innocuous choice was made…would you be able to tell the difference?”

Her eyes grew intense, seemingly gazing _through_ Joker.

“Should the soul exist…and I believe it does…would its memory be somehow…somehow…_transferrable_ to our physical brain?”

She focused back in on him. His expression radiated of skepticism.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “Highly unlikely as…mathematics and the laws of physics tend to be…concrete and relative across the board…they would deny the existence of a soul on the merit of lacking an atomical form. But…that…those might just be…the laws in _our_ universe. There’s no way of knowing…how widely shared our mathematics and laws are.”

He didn’t answer right away. She took to playing with a few locks of his hair.

“What’s the appeal of psychedelics?”

It wasn’t the response she was expecting.

“How do you mean?”

He shrugged.

“Your behavior on them, avenues of thought…aren’t what I expected. Tough for me to separate at times when it’s you talking and when it’s…you influenced by the mushrooms.”

“Does it unnerve you that I sometimes make sense?”

“I asked _first_.”

His grip on her tightened as a warning.

She nodded.

“Well…there’s the obvious…visual and physical effects. That high is…unmatched. Then…death of the Ego. You don’t realize how much it gets in the way of…seeing everything as it is. But cerebrally…in all of my experiences…I refer to it as the two A’s. Amplification and…articulation. Sober me…used to hesitate a lot more. Burdened by…dissonance…and overthinking. With psychedelics…it’s like everything that exists subconsciously…in my vacuum…reveals itself to me. Sometimes in bursts…sometimes…all at once. A…veil is peeled back. I see the man behind the curtain in Oz. I see who controls the marionette. And there is no…uncertainty. No…second guessing. When faced with the truth…I cannot look away…nor do I want to. It’s an indescribable feeling. I often think…it’s what happened to Buddha…when he became enlightened.”

He considered her answer with a squint.

“But what’s been most profound is…they’ve allowed me to forgive myself in such a _tender_ way. It’s…the _closest_ to a divine presence I’ve ever come.”

“_Grace_,” he quoted. “_Clemency, equanimity. Everything I’ve ever wanted exists within_.”

Her heart melted a little.

“You remembered.”

He ignored her remark.

“Belief,” he stated. “That’s what you get out of them.”

“Yes. Of the purest kind.”

“Hm.”

She sensed he was conflicted by her admission. As she debated whether to entertain his questions, a feeling of warmth enveloped the lower half of her body. Her brows shot together.

She glanced down, unable to detect anything unusual. Or really much of anything considering the world was still an ever-fluctuating pattern of symbols and colors.

When she looked back up, Joker was wearing a shit-eating grin.

It dawned on her instantly.

“Did you just pee?”

“Third time, if we wanna get tech-_nical _about it. You only just noticed?” His whistle was drawn out. “Amazing you can be so bright and unaware at the same time.”

“I-.” She was momentarily at a loss on what to say. “Is this a grizzly bear thing? They pee…to mark their territory. This doesn’t make the ocean yours.”

His grin was devilish.

“_Not_ the ocean I was trying to mark.”

Her face got hot. It didn’t help things any when Joker leaned in, placed his mouth around the pulse point in her neck and abruptly blew raspberries into it.

“Argh!” she squealed, nearly loosening her grip altogether.

Joker of course took only the most perverse delight in her helplessness. With his free hand he reached down and pinched her bottom.

“Sexual deviant!” she accused. “Rascal! Miscreant! Molester of innocent bunnies!”

“Mm,” he breathed against her, “yes, yes, yes, and uh _yes_. Four for four, sweets. You’re on a roll.”

He pinched her bottom again, causing her squirms to reignite.

Naturally, he could have done this all evening (and he was _sorely_ tempted to), but he’d begun to feel – even if Celine didn’t – prune marks developing on her skin. Just as well, he’d been taking discrete glances toward the shoreline and the fire looked like it could use a bit of care and attention. Both things he was _more_ than happy to provide.

Celine wasn’t immediately aware they were heading back, taking to burying her face in his neck. Initially it was mostly to hide her very prominent blush, though she may or may not have given his skin a few slow licks. Often, it was when he kept his mouth shut that he was at his most tempting. Or so was the case currently.

The next little while passed by in a bit of a daze for her. She was half-aware of Joker making it back onto the shore and depositing her none so gently onto the quilt. She remembered getting a bad case of the shivers and her nipples hurting from how cold being out of the water felt (Joker may or may not have gotten an eyeful of her dilemma).

As he tended to the fire, she remembered spending a few minutes searching for her clothes. Which was very nearly unnecessary as within two minutes Joker had restored the fire back to its former glory.

He must have found her Hawaiian shirt because he handed it to her to slip on a few seconds later. She did, though wasn’t entirely sure why it was so long and wide in the shoulders. It was while investigating this mystery that Joker asked her if she wanted to smoke more of her joint.

“Yes please,” she answered, temporarily abandoning her inquiry.

A few more hits and her body had returned to Tingle City. As she rocked back and forth staring at the fire, occasionally releasing a stream of giggles that only made sense to her, she felt Joker’s gaze on her. When she looked, he was resting on an elbow on his side, clad only in his boxers. Pride resonated from him, but she hadn’t a clue as to why.

His attention got her to thinking.

“Okay,” she said, crawling on her hands and knees toward him, blissfully unaware of how rock hard he was watching her do this dressed only in her undergarments and _his_ shirt. “I’m gonna ask you to…do something. It’s so…such a…mindfuck. Well…maybe not. You said you knew…you know…Russian?”

She was resting on her knees in front of him. Joker’s gaze struggled to ascend above her chest.

“Mhm,” was his non-committal response.

“It’s not Russian,” she explained, pulling back some of the quilt. “Slavic word. Tell me…if you don’t already know…how you would pronounce this.”

He finally payed something other than her body attention when she began to write in the sand, tongue caught between her teeth.

“How do you say this?”

He reluctantly pushed up, knelt beside her, and took in her scrawl. Though a little choppy, it read: **Ljubljana.**

“It’s a city,” he recalled, cocking his head. “Eastern Europe, right?”

“Capital of Sl-Slova-_no_…Slovenia. Pronounce it for me.”

His saliva glands ached just looking at it. He tried to think back to how the few Slavs he encountered in Gotham articulated their words.

“Lew-blee-AH-nah.”

Her mouth popped open.

“Fuck!”

“Was I right?”

“_Yes_.”

He smirked, pleased with himself.

“I just-.” She ran a hand through her hair before gesturing at the word. “It’s a word that seems to…to…defy English language logic. The first time…the first time I saw it, I pronounced it-.” She closed her eyes, thinking back. “L-jub-_lah_-jana. No, no, no…that’s not right. The first time I saw it, I tried to pronounce it…but my tongue gave up halfway through.”

He examined the word again.

“Slavs like their consonants."

“They do, they do,” she agreed.

Her eyes widened. She grabbed his bicep.

“Oh…have you seen…” She peered around once, as if fearing whoever she was about to bring up next might be in the vicinity. “Welsh. Welsh, Jack, Welsh! It’s like…like…someone unleashed a firing squad on the alphabet… _fatally_ wounding all of the vowels!”

“That so?”

He made a mental note to later research how accurate this was.

“Yes!” Her hands suddenly were very animated. “This is why…when I encounter words like…Ljubljana…I always, always, _always_ make sure to hear someone else say it first before I try pronouncing it publicly.”

“Sage advice.” He chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering how to take advantage of the opportunity presenting itself. “Why ah don’t you come sit somewhere more…comfortable, hm? Tell me about _all_ the languages you’d like outlawed, and ah I’ll see what I can do.”

Nearly an hour later, mid-sentence, Celine suddenly froze and looked down.

She was resting atop Joker’s thighs, legs coiled around his waist, arms hanging loosely over his shoulders.

“Ha-have I been sitting in your lap this entire time?”

Joker offered her a half shrug, stroking the skin beneath the waistband of her panties.

“More or _less_. You ah looked so _comfy_; didn’t have heart to evict ya. Think this might be your new home from now on.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “Do I have to pay rent? Property taxes? Water? Heat? _Electric_?”

He nuzzled her neck, nose grazing a path to her earlobe. She tried but failed to suppress her giggles.

“We’ll work out a…_mutually_ beneficial arrangement.”

Minutes later and Celine was passionately explaining her thoughts on color theory.

“Certain colors…are meant to stir up certain emotions,” she said. “We take for granted how…_influential_ color is. Take…scratch-offs for example. There’s an art to designing them. Key colors…red, gold, silver, green. They all capture the eye for different reasons…invoke specific emotions and associations…you don’t see black…or brown...not on their own anyway…they would be paired with lighter colors to…offset their traditionally…darker associations. Or…you…for example.”

His brows rose.

“Me?”

“You,” she repeated, rubbing her palms over his shoulders. “What you wear to encompass…Joker. Did you…choose the colors for your clothes? Or did your tailor…think them up?”

He scratched his chin, considering her question.

“I had a _general_ idea of what I wanted…can’t say there was any intentional psychology behind it, just chose what felt…_right_.”

“Subconsciously, then. In your vacuum, you’d already formed…connections between color and meaning,” she said. “Purple. Associated traditionally with royalty…wealth…luxury. It used to be…difficult to extract this color. Expensive. Accessible usually to high members of society. Anarchist you might be, money you might not care for…but royal you consider yourself or your cause, to be. Or…_or_…maybe that’s the intriguing irony to it…someone wearing colors associated with wealth, royalty…dismantling order, society, the concept of…currency.”

“_Huh_.”

He was engaged with her line of thinking because it was doing something so _few_ had the power to do – teach him something new about himself. Then again, she seemed to have perfected that talent without even trying.

“Green.” She twirled one of his wavy locks around a finger. “Universally, nature.”

She shook her head, biting her lip.

“It’s all starting to come together.” She sounded dazzled, as if she only had four jigsaw pieces left before completing a 2,000-piece puzzle. “A _force_ of nature…generally calming, but…you turn that one on its head too. Money…as if that matters to someone like you. For you to…dye your hair…your hair, Jack, _your hair_…long, unkempt, uneven…dyeing it the color of money…of nature…oh gosh…intentional or not, your coordination is all quite…clever. Red over your scars, over your smile…black around the eyes…”

She appeared to have stunned herself into silence.

Joker, on the other hand, was strangely _flattered_ she’d even gone through the trouble of breaking down the colors he wore and interpreting their deeper meanings. Once she laid it all out, it seemed obvious. In fact, that no doctor at Arkham even bothered making an in-depth analysis proved that a) there needed to be a…_mass_ overhaul and b) it was best Celine never pursued a career as a psychologist there, he might have actually stood a chance at being rehabilitated…whatever that meant.

Clever she’d called it. Called _him_.

He was not someone that payed others compliments, not genuine ones anyway. He wasn’t even sure how to structure one without it sounding condescending, cruel, or sexual. But for her, he found himself – as was the reoccurring theme of the day – willing to make an exception.

_You are one smart fucking cookie, _he considered saying, _and I wouldn’t mind taking a bite. I want you in my mouth. Sexually, not, cannibalistically. Unless you’re into it. I’m a flexible guy._

He grimaced. God damn, he was rusty.

“-was the color of mine anyway.”

Cocking his head, he returned his attention to her.

“Hm?”

“My soul,” she repeated. “I’ve…glimpsed it before. Gold…like…a ball of light.”

She frowned suddenly and peered at him. Her expression crumbled into one of such profound sadness that he immediately felt panic flare up within him.

“I’ve seen yours,” she said so softly he wasn’t sure if he heard her correctly. “So much black surrounding it. I…when I found out…I thought I was being punished. Maybe the universe…was conducting a practical joke.”

“When you found out what?”

Her mouth formed around a silent declaration.

“You are…my…_soulmate_.”

He exhaled sharply, laughing a little.

“Yeah?” he goaded. “How do ya figure?”

“I was…shown. Three days ago.”

“Mhm…by who?”

“Agatha. She’s my…spiritual mentor.”

He thought back to three days ago. Was that whose shop she’d been cooped up in?

“At first, I was…skeptical, horrified, betrayed, disgusted. You, my soulmate? _You_? A gun to the temple was a preferrable fate.”

He frowned at that, not say anything. It was a conflicting situation…he didn’t believe her but felt insulted nevertheless that she would find him such a repulsive life companion. Which…granted, he _was_…but that wasn’t an admission he wanted to hear come from her lips. And that he even cared what she thought had him feeling wildly agitated.

“I have no soul,” he deadpanned. “Can’t be mated to something that isn’t there.”

“I have no soul,” she repeated, lowering her voice to an intimidating grumble. “Lucifer is my father, I like kicking puppies in my free time, my ideal season is a nuclear winter…rah rah rah, _hiss hiss hiss_, snarl snarl snarl.”

He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or slash her throat.

“I-I think I can prove it,” she followed up. “I _think_. This whole trip I’ve been…tuned in to you. I mean…since we met, I’ve never _not_ been tuned in to you, but today…it’s been exceptionally strong. You just…have to promise me something.”

His gaze narrowed. Was this even worth entertaining? He’d met a lot of delusional people in his life; Celine wasn’t one who fell into that category. Which meant she _truly_ believed what she was saying. It couldn’t hurt to offer her at least a brief suspension of disbelief, could it? Worse case scenario, he got a good belly laugh out of it.

“What?”

“Don’t harm me.” She maintained eye contact with him, refusing to blink. “If I touch upon a truth…you have to promise you won’t…harm me for it.”

He opted for honesty.

“Can’t guarantee you that.”

The pain that flashed across her face made him wish he responded differently. In truth, he could probably contain the instinct. But he found himself hesitant in revealing that to her. It was a sick, ingrained form of logic in him…always keep others just a little bit uneasy. Otherwise, that power was no longer his alone.

“Okay,” she settled on. “That’s fair.”

Her soft acceptance had him struggling not to kiss her.

She straightened in his lap and clasped her hands together. Her eyes dropped down to his chest, brows furrowing together in concentration.

Earlier, she had compared his energetic presence to a wasp’s nest. The events of the last couple of hours, however - whether he was aware of it or not – had calmed the buzzing down significantly. Furthermore, though the tar was still thick, her lifeforce was much more potent, much _bolder_.

She focused all of her energy on barreling through the tar.

Memories danced in her mind’s eye. Him helping her up after she’d fallen off the treehouse steps. Him wearing her flower crown. Him re-bandaging her hand. Him carrying her on his back. Him guiding her out into the ocean. Holding her close. Making sure she didn’t drift away.

A tear leaked out. She channeled the love she felt for him in those moments…pure, unfiltered, _absolute_.

The tar was terrified of the light speeding toward it. Celine’s fingers parted and curled.

_You have held him hostage far too long. _

She burst through, eyes clamping shut.

“_Oh_.”

Images flashed before her. She caught glimpses of Joker…aged six, aged ten, aged fourteen, aged twenty, aged twenty-six, now.

“I was wrong,” she voiced, brows nearly touching. “In your dating profile. Thirty-four I said.”

He stiffened beneath her.

“You’re older than me by three months and…_twenty_-_one_ days.” She cocked her head. “You…you’re _kidding_ me.”

She couldn’t help but free a few giggles.

“You were born on April Fool’s Day?”

His heart nearly plummeted into his stomach.

“Joker really is the most fitting title,” she marveled, mouth parted. “Your sense of humor…no one can take that away from you. Do you still celebrate?”

She was waiting for him to respond.

He struggled to unclench his jaws.

“I’m tuning in to you,” she answered his unspoken thought. “You ever watch Price is Right? You make it onto the stage, and you have to spin the wheel. Your memories…they’re like the wheel. I can’t…slow down the spinning…but certain memories…I get a clearer glance at. Can you feel me in there? Close your eyes, slow down your breathing, and relax. I’ll try to say hi.”

In only a few seconds, she had robbed him of the ability to speak.

“I can sever the connection, if you’d like,” she told him. “As I said before, I don’t want to infringe on territory you’re not comfortable with. I’ll say this…never in my life have I been able to do this. I…have always been gifted at picking up on people’s emotions…getting hints of their thoughts…but never anything remotely like this. If that’s not proof that we’re cosmically linked…that there’s an energetic cord connecting us to one another…I don’t know what is.”

Joker’s chest burned. He’d not realized until that moment he had stopped breathing.

Two emotions commandeered his attention. Anger and intrigue. Anger screamed at the top of its lungs, demanding possession of his body. But his focus was on intrigue, who wore a jester’s cap and hopped from foot to foot, wearing a mischievous smile.

When presented with the choice, he went with what stimulated his mind over what stimulated his body.

“Tread carefully,” he warned her. “Or I _will_ snap your neck.”

“Noted.”

That she was so calm about this made him relax just the slightest.

She got a big grin on her face moments later.

“Awww.”

He narrowed his gaze.

“_Wha-**t**?_”

“You…you loved South Park. Cartman was your favorite character. Hm, figures. You…._geez_, Jack…how many times did you watch the Scott Tenorman episode?”

He tried and failed to contain his smirk. Out of all the things she could have chosen to air out, he was secretly glad it was this. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise. He was horrible at revealing things about himself, and frankly had forgotten how he used to pass the time before disorder became his main priority.

“Lost count,” he answered. “That uh…was the _best_ episode Matt and Trey ever did. The ending is a masterpiece. Told them as much.”

“You’ve _met_ them?”

“Wrote to ‘em,” he corrected, scratching his chin. “I was a bored twenty-something, looking to kill some time. No one had the balls to do their kinda comedy. I also had a uh _outline_ idea for an episode I sent…though ah I _don’t_ think they took to it. They wrote back thanking me for the support but advising me to seek psychological help.”

She giggled at that, biting her lip.

“How _bad_ could the idea have been to disturb even them?”

“Mm…memory’s a little foggy, but if I recall correctly it involved Garrison getting caught accidentally _exposing_ himself to his students…to try and take the heat off, he drugs the school principal with ecstasy, films a buncha rottweilers gangraping her, and ends up winning a film festival for its…_artistic_ vision.”

Her mouth fell.

“_Christ_.”

“Much funnier in my head then on paper.”

“You’re lucky you weren’t put on a watchlist.”

He grinned fondly.

She was quiet for nearly a minute before her face scrunched up.

“What?” he demanded.

“I…you watched these films…_oh_…you were into some sick shit, Jack.”

She stated it as a fact, not as an insult. Joker sifted through his memories, wondering which movies she was talking about.

“Ah.” He smiled a little. “Gotta be talking ‘bout the _August Underground_ films. That-a…was a _peculiar_ phase. Knew I had all the makings of a great killer…just didn’t know where to harness it…serial killer or mass killer…serial or mass. Those movies…_excited_ me.”

“Do they still?”

He shrugged.

“Outgrew ‘em. _House of a 1,000 Corpses_ is more my speed. There’s gotta be _joy_ in torture. No fun if they’re killing with such…seriousness.”

She didn’t follow this up with anything and he was mildly grateful. It was best she never know the full scale of the sick shit he was into, and just how _much_ of it he used to jerk off to.

“You used to steal books from the library. When you were done, you’d strip off all the district address stickers and sell them.”

His scars twitched.

“In my _defense_, they would only let ya lease the books out for a week. Much too short a time frame. And some… I didn’t feel like giving back.”

“You’ve still got one,” she said, brows pinching together. “Sun Tzu’s _The Art of War_…how appropriate_. _I liked that one too. What’s the one quote…_the way of war is_-.”

“-_the way of deception_,” he finished. “_When able, feign inability_. _When deploying troops, appear not to be. When near, appear far. When far, appear near. Lure with bait…**strike** with chaos_.”

She smiled.

“You’ve used that one to strategize many a time.”

“Tzu knew his stuff,” he said, unable to keep the admiration from his voice. “And war really _is_ an art. It’s all too fast nowadays. Drones take all the scheming out of it. Countries fight proxy wars with technology and surveillance. No one’s _invested_. You ah told your uncle I was ex-military, which _tickles_ me as I’d sooner let Crane perform a lobotomy on me than become government _pro-**perty**_…especially a government as megalomaniacal as this one. But if I _had_ been, I’d-a brought back a little _finesse_ to war. A little _imagination_. Slow it down and raise the stakes.”

“Hm.” She pursed her lips. “I think we should all count ourselves lucky. It’s likely you would have brought about another world war.”

He smirked.

“You really know how to flatter a guy. And I _still_ could. Only a few connections away from some very important people who possess some very big, _red_ buttons. Maybe if I become terminal…as a last little gift to myself.”

“I should be more disturbed to hear that.”

His grin was wolfish.

“You’re not ‘cos it’s me…soul-**_mate_**.”

Her heart stuttered. Instantly, the connection was severed. She slowly opened her eyes.

“You…acknowledged it.”

“Tough not to after being read like an instruction manual.” He cocked his head, eying her up and down. “Soulmates, huh_?_ Hm…stranger things in this world I guess.”

Her brows rose.

“Such as?”

“Cinnamon flavored toothpicks. Televangelists. A North Dakota and a South Dakota. _Sperm banks_.”

She didn’t bother holding back her laughter. Again, it felt as if she’d been relieved of a heavy weight.

“So ah…that tuning in ya just did,” he ventured. “It go both ways?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “You could try.”

He closed his eyes but saw nothing.

“You have to focus,” she told him. “Steady your breathing, clear your mind…let…your feelings toward me, guide you.”

“Do sexual ones count?”

“I don’t see why not.”

His breathing slowed. For a few minutes, he was quiet.

She sensed his frustration before it physically or verbally revealed itself.

“Maybe the mushrooms were responsible,” she offered. “Or the years of meditation. I…could call Agatha. See if she knows.”

He opened his eyes.

“Don’t _bother_.”

An uncomfortable sort of silence formed. It made Celine itchy in the worst way possible.

“I won’t abuse it, you know.”

He seemed committed not to speak, frown growing by the second.

“And I have no idea if I could do it again. Even now, you’re more closed off to me than before. I honestly think it happened….so that you could experience the evidence for yourself.”

When this failed to rouse a response, she sighed and went to move off him. Just as quickly, he had a hand in the back of her hair.

“I’m going to say this _once_.”

His voice was frostbite, eyes a lifeless abyss. She blinked once to let him know he had her attention.

“If you ever tune in like that again without my permission.” His fingers slowly tightened into a fist. “I will kill every single person you love. And I’ll make you watch, then kill you too. Do you understand?”

She was infinitely fortunate to be coming down from the mushrooms. Had she been peaking and heard those words, no amount of reaffirmations could have prevented the trip from heading south. His threat was not made lightly, nor for show. He would act first, consider the consequences second.

“I understand.”

He took his time releasing her. The minute he did, she cupped the back of her skull and massaged her screaming roots. A few tears involuntarily leaked out.

Neither of them spoke for the next little while.

Dread longed to fester in Celine’s gut, but she still had the clarity of higher consciousness as a deterrent. When looking past the threat, she saw…a frightened man voicing it. A man who relied on intimidation when faced with discomfort. A man who had long ago closed himself off from the world and conditioned himself to accept the worst in everyone and everything.

For as beautiful and right as it felt to connect with him on such a spiritual level, she recognized how disorienting and revealing it had to be for him. Especially not having access to her the same way she did him.

_Did he smile even once as a child?_

She’d had the chance to delve in deeper into those images but chose not to out of instinct. They spoke for themselves, as did the decision to slice his scars upward. Now, he was _always_ smiling, _never_ sad.

“Thank you.”

He’d been glaring at the fire but looked at her when she spoke.

“For _what_?”

She was delicate with her word choice. A sour sort of tension still lingered in the air.

“Letting me see you, even if just in spurts. I know it’s not easy not being in control. I know something in you expects the worst out of me no matter what I say or do. I know you’re doing your best to adapt to someone wanting to know you in ways you’re not yet ready to reveal yourself. If it means anything at all…I-.” Her gaze fell to her lap. “-Had the chance to see your more…vulnerable moments. To better understand what made you…_this_. I didn’t…for two reasons. The first is…it’s not in my nature to trespass into territory of that severity. Pain is personal, you alone decide when it no longer has to be. The second…is…”

Her bottom lip trembled. She blinked a few times, nails sinking into her thighs.

“I…don’t think I could bear to see you like that. It would hurt me beyond anything I can express. You are…my soulmate. What all that entails, I don’t fully know. But there is one thing I am certain of…”

She gently took the hand resting on his stomach and brought it to her chest. His palm scorched her skin; she desired nothing more than to burn.

“My heart…beats for you.” She met his eyes. “Your highs are mine, your lows are mine, your thoughts, desires, fears, insecurities…are mine. So long as you carry a pulse, I’ll do my best to ensure…you never return to that place again.”

His expression bordered a fine line between suspicion and longing. It was obvious he wanted badly to believe her but did so at the expense of surrendering to a force more powerful and unpredictable than he.

“How do you want me to respond to that?”

His tone was flat, seemingly unaware of the conflict occurring on his face.

“It’s not for you to respond to.”

This surprised him. He looked down to his hand, then up at her eyes.

“It’s for you to find solace in.”

For a long while, he didn’t answer. Nor did he remove his hand.

Meanwhile, Celine could start to feel the exhaustion of the day weighing down upon her. Her eyelids drooped, and a yawn was developing in the back of her throat.

“You’ll regret saying all this in the morning.”

She smiled sadly and shook her head.

“That’s the scary thing. I don’t think I will.”

They sat in the same position for close to a half hour, neither of them speaking. At one point, she closed her eyes just for a few seconds to rest. It’d been not only an emotionally taxing day, but a physically one too.

When she opened them again, she was ascending the cliff stairs. Initially, amazement overcame her. She was floating!

Upon a closer inspection, she discovered this _not_ to be the case. Joker had his arms secured around her back while her arms and legs were coiled lazily around his neck and hips.

This realization made her smile into the side of his throat. If he felt it, he didn’t let on.

She was half-alert by the time he made it to the top, and even less so as he was lowering her into her bed.

“Where do you want me to sleep?”

He hovered uncertainly in only his boxers. She squinted at him, still wearing his shirt.

“Wherever you feel…most comfortable.”

He wasted no time slipping into bed with her.

Within a few short seconds, his chest was pressed up against her back, his legs tangled up with her own, and one arm draped over her waist. When she fell asleep, it was to the soothing sensation of his nose resting against the nape of her neck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've not slept in a few days, so apologies if there's any grammatical/spelling errors. Will fine tune when I'm more well-rested. In regards to the content of Celine's trip journal:
> 
> \- The untitled poem Joker read in the treehouse, carrying a line that is the title of this story, is a poem I had written for a class almost two years ago. I regret not publishing it, it's one of my favorite things I've ever produced, and true to form, is about my first magic mushroom experience
> 
> \- Celine's "rap" I wrote a year back while on an edible
> 
> I can't believe I've found a way to utilize both, the rap especially. I thought I'd go to the grave with that one *insert nervously sweating laugh emoji*


End file.
